Her Savior
by Kchan88
Summary: Raoul de Chagny sees himself as just a normal man, but Christine Daae sees him as her savior. A story detailing what happened in the months after the Opera disaster: Phillipe's funeral, the wedding, children, etc. Will Erik reappear? ALW and Leroux. RC
1. Chapter 1

Her Savior, A Raoul/Christine fanfiction

A/N: Hi all! After reading the libretto and listening to the music of the Phantom sequel, Love Never Dies, I was seriously upset, especially at the immense wrongs that were comitted against the original, especially concerning Raoul's character. This sequel makes Erik's beautiful moment of compassion at the end of the original completely moot, and that's just not cool. As such, I'm choosing to ignore the sequel and not recognize it as canon. I also felt an immense need to write Raoul-centric fanfiction. :) This will be a collection of one-shots on events that happen after the original story ends. It is heavily ALW musical and movie based (I have the chandelier fall after Point of Return, instead of after All I Ask of You), but will have elements of Leroux thrown in, such as Phillipe's death, Raoul having sisters, details from R and C's childhood, etc. I hope you enjoy!

Part 1: Saving Each Other

I sat beneath the grand, arched ceiling of Notre Dame Cathedral, sunlight filtering in through the stained glass windows and onto my pew. Two weeks. Two weeks since the disaster, since I had nearly lost my Christine, since my own life had nearly been sucked from my lungs...since the Opera ghost had released us, his whereabouts unknown. Finally my mind fell on Phillipe, and my breath caught in my chest. My brother, the man who had raised me and seen to my care after our parents had passed away. My confidante and father figure. His body had been discovered in the cellars of the Opera House just recently, hence the delayed funeral, which was to take place in a few days. Whether the Phantom, who I had recently learned was called Erik, had killed Phillipe, or whether he had simply fallen prey to any of the many traps within the cellars, was unknown, and really, it had ceased to matter to me. He was gone, and there was nothing I could do.

I rested my head in my hands, sighing. This was the first time I'd had any significant time alone since everything had happened. Aside from purchasing new clothes for Christine, as her old ones had been lost in the fire, we'd hardly ventured outside my chateau. Instead we stayed inside, wrapped up in each other's arms, holding on for dear life, afraid we'd be seperated once more. The past few days however, had forced us to venture out. We'd been called into questioning on the whole matter at the Opera, busy clearing our names and dealing with the nasty rumors floating around the city. These would die in time, I knew, but I'd promised Christine that once we were married, we could go to Perros, by the sea at Brittany, and stay as long as we wished. Then of course, there were the wedding plans.

The wedding...

It was to take place in two weeks time. I smiled for the first time all day. Christine. My beautiful, sweet darling. Currently she and Meg were at the dress shop with Madame Giry, doing final dress fittings. When I had attempted to come along, all three had laughed.

"Raoul my love," Christine had chuckled, trying to keep a serious expression, her hand resting affectionately on my chest, brown eyes aglow. "You are absolutely forbidden to see my dress until I walk down the aisle. Meg and Madame are keeping it at their new flat just to make sure."

I'd laughed and agreed.

"It's bad luck, I know. Have fun darling. I leave you in Madame Giry and Meg's capable hands."

My smile grew wider at the thought of my fiance. Despite everything, I still had her, safe and whole, and that kept me going. My childhood sweetheart was my world. This happy thought, however, led me to darker ones, associated with the man who had also loved Christine. I clenched my fists. Part of me wanted to hate him without question, to forever loathe him for nearly shattering Christine's heart, for nearly killing me, for sending the Opera into dissarray, for Phillipe's death. I felt the still very prominent rope burns around my neck, which I had tried to conceal from the public with higher collars in order to prevent even more gossip. But the other half of me simply couldn't hate him entirely. The compassion Christine had shown him...the compassion he had shown us in return...the expression on his face...his pained shouts telling us to go...they were etched in my mind forever. In that moment, he was simply a man, a man who had rarely known human kindness, let alone love, aside perhaps from Madame Giry's rescue from the gypsy camp. I knew too, that Christine would forever hold a sort of daughter-like affection for him, which I wanted to respect. The conflicting emotions hit me with a rush as I glanced up at the crucifix, pondering God's hand in all of this. I'd always had a strong faith, and still did, but all of this had tested my resolve. I questioned why all of this had to happen, why Erik had chosen Christine, why plights like his occurred at all. My mind flashed back to that dreadful night, to the Phantom's harsh words in my ear:

"Order your fine horses now! Raise up your hand to the level of your eye! Nothing can save you now, except perhaps, Christine!"

And she had saved me, willing to give up her own freedom. Her life, essentially. After all my effort, after all the fight I'd put up...Christine had been forced to save me...I'd wanted so much to protect her. For the first time in the past two weeks I felt tears blur my vision, hot and unyeilding. I was thankful the cathedral was nearly empty as I covered my face in my hands. Several minutes later I heard soft footsteps coming toward me and a familiar voice speaking to me, quiet and angelic, as she sat down beside me. I looked up, breathing deeply in an attempt to hide my moment of weakness.

"Jacques said I'd find you here," said Christine. "I..." she stopped at seeing my presumably tear stained face.

"How were the dress fittings?" I asked, smiling at her.

"What's wrong, Raoul?" she asked, ignoring my question, her deep brown eyes gazing at me with immense concern.

"Nothing darling," I responded, taking her small hands in mine.

"I know you Raoul," she instantly argued. "You can't lie to me. Please, tell me what's bothering you."

I met her eyes again and she smiled, reassuring me.

"It's just..."I began, willing my voice not to break. "I feel as though I failed you, Christine. I wasn't able to save you back in that lair. I couldn't save you from any of it. I promised you, I swore to protect you. You are the bravest woman I know for what you did in the lair, for performing Don Juan."

"Raoul," said Christine, cutting me off and pulling me closer. "How could ever think you didn't save me? Where would I be if you hadn't come after me when I went to the cemetary? Where would I be if you hadn't come down to the lair? What chance would there have been for me? You were willing to die for me without a second thought, Raoul!"

"Christine," I tried to cut in, but she wouldn't have it.

"The first time I'd been truly happy in these past years was when you showed up at my dressing room door with that playful smile of yours, all grown up. You saved me, Raoul, from my dark, unhappy existence." She reached into her pocket, pulling out a piece of red material."Just like the little boy who saved this scarf from the sea. He was never concerned with himself: he was always concerned more for me."

She squeezed my hand, almost looking stern, then breaking out into a full grin, the first one I'd seen on her face since that terrible night.

"Where on earth did you find that?" I asked, awestruck.

"Meg found it," she replied. "When she went back to our rooms to see if anything could be salvaged. This made it."

I chuckled. "That's one determined scarf. Well, we'd best get back home, love. Dinner will be on soon."

She nodded in agreement and I took her hand as we genuflected toward the tabernacle. I silently thanked God for the blessing beside me. We had nearly reached the doors when something creaked, and Christine whipped around, suddenly on edge.

"I'm sorry," she said, realizing herself. "I thought I heard someone behind us."

I let go of her hand and placed my arm snugly about her shoulders, pulling her in as we walked out into the sunlight. She'd been jumpy ever since that fateful night in the lair, and I'd spent many nights holding her when she woke up terrified after a nightmare. She'd been prone to them ever since we were children, and I did my best to soothe her.

"You know," I said a few moments later, daring to bring up the subject, albeit in a gentle manner. "I think you saved him too. The Opera Ghost, I mean. You showed him there is kindness in humanity...that not everyone would treat him with disdain."

She gazed up at me, tears sparkling in her eyes. "Maybe," she said, taking a deep breath. "I hope so."

We walked in silence for a bit, my arm around her shoulder, hers around my waist. Sometimes it hurt far too much to talk about what had happened. Extensive conversation would come with time, when the wounds had taken some time to scab over.

"Raoul," she said, turning to face me. " I love you. More than my life. I need you to know that."

"I love you too, Little Lotte," I said, kissing the side of her head.

"And I need you to know...want you to know...you're my savior. Truly."

"And you mine," I responded, my heart swelling as I kissed her lips beneath the cloudless Parisian sky.

A/N: I hope you all enjoyed this! The next one will be up soon!


	2. Help Me Say Goodbye

Chapter 2: Help Me Say Goodbye

A/N: Hi all! This is my take on what Phillipe's funeral might have been like. It was always something I was interested in writing, so here's my attempt. Again, this is heavily ALW (especially plot wise) with elements of Leroux. I hope you like it!

I walked about my room in a desperate search for my shoes. Today was Phillipe's funeral, and I'd become rather disoriented.

"Dammit," I muttered. "Where have those blasted boots gotten to?" I sat down on my bed, resolving to go look downstairs in a moment.

"Looking for these?" questioned a soft voice from the doorway.

Christine offered me an amused smile, holding my boots, freshly shined.

"Thank you!" I exclaimed, taking them and sliding them on. Phillipe had give me these for Christmas. I looked Christine's form up and down and almost lost my breath at how lovely she was. She donned a simple, short sleeved black dress, her mane of brown of curls tied back with a black ribbon. She wore the silver music note earrings I'd given her for her birthday.

"You look lovely darling," I said.

"Thank you," she said, coming over to me. "Let me straighten you out here."

She proceeded to re-tie my scarf, rebutton my jacket, and smooth my hair.

"I'm sorry," I said, leaning over and kissing her lips swiftly in thanks. "I'm a bit out of my head today."

"You have every right to be, love," she said. "You're always so strong, Raoul, but this was your brother who you were very close to and who loved you very much."

I nodded. "I do have to be put together in front of my sisters and my aunt. I'm the head of the family now, strange as that sounds."

"And soon to be a husband," she said, wrapping her arms loosely around my neck and looking me straight in the eyes."You're the bravest of men, Raoul de Chagny, and you've always been there for me without question. Now please, let me be there for you. I knwo you have to be strong for your family. But remember, I'm here."

She kissed me and I held her in my arms for a moment, preparing to go downstairs where my Aunt Claire and my two older sisters, Adelaide and Cosette, were waiting for me. I took Christine's hand as we made our way to the living room. My sisters were there, sitting on either side of Aunt Claire, each holding one of her wrinkled hands in theirs, blonde heads bowed. These women had been the mothers I'd never had, as Maman had died mere days after my birth. They took very kindly to Christine and our engagement; Aunt Claire, in fact, had been the one who had convinced Phillipe to consent. I would have married nevertheless, would have been stripped of my title if that was the consquence, but my brother and I had always been extrordinarily close, he just needed a bit of prodding to know it was would make me happy. He had admitted to me that he knew Christine was the love of my life, and that no one else could ever hold a candle to her in my heart. It was a comfort, especially now, to have my brother's blessing. I squeezed Christine's hand and looked down at my remaining family, my mind sliding back into a very recent memory.

**Flashback**

I sat upon the edge of one of the living room chairs, hands clenched on either side.

"He spends all his time at the damn opera," said Phillipe from the other side of the door."I hardly see him, and now he comes home telling me he's going to propose to Christine Daae? I have to say, when I put him in charge of the patronage of the Opera, this was the last thing I expected."

"They've been sweethearts since they were children," came Aunt Claire's voice. "I knew they'd be married the moment that boy went to fetch her scarf from the sea all these years ago. He will ask Christine whether or not you consent, Phillipe. He asked you because he always wants your blessing. But your brother is a romantic, and he loves that girl beyond measure. I can see it in his eyes."

Silence fell for a solid minute before I heard Phillipe respond. I could picture him massaging his forehead as he often did when frustrated.

"We are one of the oldest, most respected families in Paris...if I do not marry and produce an heir, which is looking doubtful at the moment, Raoul will become the next Comte de Chagny. That is not something to be taken lightly. My father..."

"Told you to, above all, look out for your siblings' happiness," cut in Aunt Claire. "Your sisters are both happily married, why would you deny the brother you love more than life itself the same happiness? Raoul was deprived of his mother at birth, deprived of his father at a young age. Do not deprive him of your blessing to marry the love of his life."

"Raoul is set to become the head of this family," Phillipe argued, but Aunt Claire cut him off once again.

"And Christine would be a credit to this family, society be damned!" Aunt Claire argued, her voice rising. "And Raould has shown himself more than enough responsibility to become the head of this family. He's headstrong and passionate, but he's incredibly mature for his age."

I cringed at my aunt's rising voice. She loved Phillipe dearly, but the both of them were often stubborn.

"I do wish Raoul to be happy," responded Phillipe, his tone softening. "And Christine is a sweet girl; intelligent, exceptionally talented. Her father was nearly a saint."

"It's decided then," said Aunt Claire, flinging open the door and grinning at me before heading out onto the veranda to give Phillipe and I a moment alone. I sprung up from my chair, watching my brother run a hand through his short, dark blonde hair. I met his gaze. I was the taller of the two of us, but Phillipe still possessed a great ability to look rather intimidating when he was serious.

"Raoul."

"Phillipe."

"I suppose you heard..."

"Yes," I said. "I couldn't help it, really. It means the world to me, your blessing."

Phillipe's eyes crinkled as he smiled despite himself, running his fingers across his moustache. He cleared his throat, regaining composure.

"Yes well, you deserve happiness Raoul. I've always wanted the best for you, stubborn as you've always been."

He grinned, and I couldn't help but laugh at my many childhood memories of Phillipe, twenty years my senior, essentially raising the headstrong boy I had been. He clapped my shoulder.

"Bring Christine to dinner at her earliest convienence. I should like to get to know her again."

I could tell he meant it.

"She'll love that," I responded, sliding on my coat as I went out on the veranda to join my brother and aunt on the veranda for a celebratory glass of wine.

**End Flashback**

I jumped out of the memory, shocked back into harsh reality by Adelaide's voice.

"Raoul!" she cried, leaping up from the couch, her curly blonde hair flying behind her. She threw her arms around me. Only five years my senior, she was the youngest of my two sisters and had often been my playmate. Both she and Cosette, who was 35, were married, but still lived in Paris.

"Hello there," I said, returning her embrace. I felt her tears drip onto my jacket and steeled myself to remain strong.

"Hello brother," greeted Cosette, giving me a hug once Christine and I had reached the bottom of the stairs. She rubbed her hand up and down my back as she had often done when I was a child. Only five years Phillipe's junior, and fifteen years older than me, she had always been a hybrid mix of sister and mother.

Adelaide had proceeded to embrace Christine, while Cosette admired my fiance's dress, giving Aunt Claire a moment to focus on me.

"Raoul dear, come here for a moment please. Adelaide, Cosette, kindly go with Christine to the carriage. We'll meet you there in a moment."

Christine caught my eye as she was ushered outside by my sisters, offering me an encouraging smile. Silence fell between Aunt Claire and I for a moment, and for the first time since my father, her older brother, had died, I saw tears in her eyes. She ran an affectionate finger down my cheek.

"This is going to be a difficult day for all of us," she began. "Phillipe meant a great deal to this family. Ever since your dear father died, really since your mother died, Phillipe has acted as head of this family. My poor brother was so shaken by your mother's death that Phillipe had to take at least partial responsibility for the family affairs at the young age of twenty...the same age you are now. I just can't quite believe he's gone...and to think we nearly lost you as well, my boy...the state you and Christine were in when you arrived at my chateau..."

"But you didn't lose me," I said, taking her hands in mine. "I'm still here."

"I know," she said, patting my hand. "And for that I know I'm blessed. Poor Phillipe."

"I'll never forgive myself for him coming after me," I said. It was true; my guilt was overwhelming. "I just know that the same water trap I fell prey too must have captured him."

"You musn't blame yourself," said Aunt Claire firmly. "You were trying to rescue Christine, and Phillipe in turn, wanted to rescue you." She paused, coming to the reason she'd wanted a moment alone. "Raoul," she began, "As soon as Phillipe is laid to rest, you well be the new Comte de Chagny, which is a great deal of responsibility. I know you weren't expecting it so soon, and you're young, but Phillipe will be proud of you."

"Yes," I said, taking in a deep breath. " I know. I just wish...I wish he was still here."

At this we embraced, and went out to the carriage.

I entered Notre Dame, hands linked with both Christine and Adelaide, while Aunt Claire and Cosette followed behind, hands also linked. Phillipe's coffin proceeded us, black and foreboding. Before us sat the aristocratic community of Paris, all gazing at us, as well as fellow family members sitting close to the front. Phillipe's sudden death amidst the opera disaster, had been on the front pages of the papers for weeks. Some people, I knew, were here out of morbid curiosity, but even more were here to truly pay their respects to my brother. I spotted my dear old friend Lucien in one of the pews, and he sent a melancholy smile my way. The five of us reached the front pew, where Alexander, Adelaide's husband, and Jean, Cosette's husband were already seated. Christine sat on the edge, I next to her, with Adelaide on my other side, then Aunt Claire and Cosette on the other side of her. I squeezed Christine's hand, and she squeezed back, reminding me that she was there for me. As the priest began the service I heard a sniffle, seeing Cosette, my usually tearless sister, nearly break down. I reached over Adelaide to kiss my sister's cheek and hand her my handkerchief.

"Thank you Raoul," she said, patting my hand.

Next to me, Adelaide took my hand and wiped her eyes, holding onto me, it seemed, for dear life. The rest of the funeral passed in a haze, as well as the burial service. As my brother's coffin was lowered into the unmerciful earth, I heard my aunt's voice in my head:

"As soon as your brother is laid to rest, you will become the Comte de Chagny..."

As the final blessing was said, I had an arm around each of my sisters, who were sobbing into my shoulders. Christine stood with Aunt Claire, who had her arm linked through my fiance's, leaning on her slightly, eyes dry. She seemed unable to cry anymore tears. Christine's face, I noticed, was shining with water. I felt like someone had punched me in the solar plexus, and I squeezed my sisters closer to me, wishing I could ease their pain. Here I was, the younger brother trying desperately to fill the void of the older.

Phillipe...

After the service many of the attendess returned to my chateau; I shook many hands, exchanged words I couldn't remember. I saw my friend Lucien, Andre, Firmin, the Girys, as well as many of Phillipe's friends and colleagues. I kept a polite smile plastered on my face. As the head of this prestigious family, I was expected to, no matter the circumstance. Finally, after what I was sure was an eternity, everyone was gone. My aunt and sisters, who were to stay with me for a few days, each went to lay down, faces drawn with grief. I made my way to my room and collapsed on the bed. Christine followed shortly after, sitting carefully down next to me.

"He's gone, Christine," I whispered in a hollow voice. "Gone. I hope I did him proud today."

"You did, darling," she said, smoothing my sweaty hair back from my forehead.

"The Comte de Chagny at 20...it wasn't supposed to be like this...he was like another father to me..."my voice died.

At this, Christine pulled me into her arms, like I often did for her. She held me close, whispering in my ear.

"Let go Raoul," she said. "Cry."

I wrapped my arms around her and sobbed like I hadn't since I was a child.

A/N: I hope you guys enjoyed this! Sad, I know, but I always wondered what Phillipe's funeral might have been like. The next vignette should be up soon!  



	3. Nightmares and Professions of Love

Chaper 3: Nightmares and Professions of Love

I awoke to the sound of a scream from across the hall, followed by desperate sobbing. I grabbed my dressing gown and threw it on, heading to Christine's room across the hall. It was mere days before our wedding. Jacques, my butler, appeared by the door with a candle, which I gratefully took before heading into the guest room. I opened the door to find Christine sitting straight up, arms wrapped around her petite legs, rocking back and forth, hardly able to breathe for crying. I rushed to her side, placing the candle on her bedside table before sitting down next to her.

"Christine, sweetheart, what's the matter? Are you alright?" I wrapped an arm around her, pulling her close.

She leaned into me, moving as close as humanly possible. "I had another nightmare, but it was worse than all the others..." Her voice broke and I held her closer, her thin frame trembling. She'd been prone to these nightmares ever since that fateful night in the lair, indeed she'd had them since her father's death. but she'd never reacted quite so violently. Her forehead was covered in perspiration.

"Shh," I whispered, gathering her whole form into my arms. "It's all right. I'm here. It was just a dream."

"You were dead!" she exclaimed, crying into my chest, tears spilling over onto my skin. "You hung from the portcullis, not breathing, and there was nothing, NOTHING I could do to stop Erik from killing you! You were murdered right in front of my eyes! I can't bear to lose you, Raoul, I just can't! I would die."

"I promise, love, nothing will happen to me. I'm here. I'll never leave you, my sweet darling." My heart broke at how heartwrenching her sobs were. I held her for several minutes, trying desperatley to reassure her of my presence. Holding her like this always made me realize how small she was, how delicate. And yet, so incredibly brave.

After a few moments she managed to catch her breath, and pulled back to look at me. She pulled my dressing gown away from my neck slightly, revealing the purple bruises on my neck that were slowly starting to fade. Some of those scars however, would not ever fade entirely. She touched my neck with her tiny hand, running carefully across all the bruises.

"These are the reminders of the fact that you were willing to die for me, Raoul," she said, looking into my eyes. "Reminders of how I almost lost you forever. But I couldn't let you die, Raoul. I know you begged me to let you, but I just couldn't bear it! My very soul would have perished.. And that dream..."

"I know," I said, running one hand across her cheek in comfort, and twirling one of her curls with the other, the memories of that night coming in flashes, my psyche screaming against the horror of it all. I could only imagine what it must have been like for Christine to have relived it vividly, albeit with a different ending. I'd had my own nightmares, but none as violent as hers, it seemed."But remember, my love, it turned out all right in the end. I'm here for you, and will be as long as there is breath in me."

She looked in my eyes, giving me a small smile. She looked down again, but put her hand on top of mine. There was obviously something on her mind, but I let silence envelop us for a few moments, letting her tell me when she was ready.

"I so often try to understand him," she said, her thumb running circles over the skin of my hand. "Sometimes, I think I do. But sometimes...I can't. He's been through such trauma, treated so cruelly."

There was no need for her to name Erik. I knew who she spoke of. I nodded at her, urging her to go on.

"I did care for him..."

Despite myself, my heart gave a painful twinge.

"But as my teacher. I know he loved me, but I only wish he could have just continued being my teacher, instead of trying to force me to love him the way I love you. There were so many times when he frightened me beyond belief."

My heart breathed again.

"I'm so often hurt and angry about all the things he did...telling me he was my Angel of Music sent by my father, the murders, destroying the opera, for trying to kill you, for trying to force me stay with him. It all haunts me." She stopped for a moment, overcome. I stroked her cheek, trying to encourage her to keep talking. I knew she needed to divulge all of this.

"He killed for me, Raoul, but you were willing to DIE for me to ensure my happiness! There is no greater sacrifice. When we were down in that lair, and you were gasping for air and telling me to go free, all I could see was the young boy I so loved jumping into the ocean for my red scarf, unceasingly brave."

"You were brave too, Christine," I added, needing her to realize that. "The sacrifice you were willing to make was perhaps even greater."

"But even still," she continued, "I feel compassion for him. His crimes aren't excused, but no one deserves to be treated the way he was. No one. And I hope he finds happiness, somehow. Raoul, do you think he could still be alive? It wouldn't be right for him to die by the hand of a mob."

"He is a rather impressive escape artist," I answered. "Meg did say they found no one in the lair. So it's highly possible."

I looked at Christine, feeling inexplicably grateful that she was here with me. Despite all that Erik had put us through, despite my anger and the trauma we'd faced, I would never forget his moment of compassion, for letting Christine and I leave together in the end, as though, perhaps, even if he couldn't escape his darkness, he'd allowed Christine to escape the darkness that had enveloped her since her father died.

"Raoul?" whispered Christine, sounding like she had when she was a young girl.

"Yes, Little Lotte?"

"I know it's not proper to stay in the same room until we're married, but could you possibly stay here with me tonight? I can't bear to be parted from you. If I have another nightmare I want to wake up and see your face."

She blushed, and although she might not have been able to see it in the dark, I did too. A fervent Catholic and hoping to always be a gentleman, I had pledged to wait until my wedding night to share particular intimacies with my fiance, difficult as it sometimes might have been. Christine too, had made the same pledge. Most men my age would have laughed off such a thing, but I'd never felt the need to follow the crowd. But damn any of the gossip, sleeping in the same bed with her before said night would do no harm; she was terrified, and I desperately wanted to comfort her. Not that I would ignore the simple pleasure of being able to hold her while she slept.

"Of course," I said, pulling the covers up and over the both of us. "Anything you to make you feel safe."

I reached out my arms to her, beckoning her forward, and she moved into them, nuzzling her head against my chest as I smoothed her hair.

"Raoul?" she questioned again.

"Yes Christine?"

"Do you know how much I love you?"

I chuckled. "Not as much as I love you."

"Oh goodness," she said, sighing good naturedly. "This argument again. Can you let me continue please?"

"Of course madmoiselle," I said teasingly. "Go on."

"I just wanted you to know, that it's always been you, from that moment I kissed your cheek after you saved my scarf. It was always you I loved, even after we were parted. I still have some of those first letters you sent me. You spark a passion in me that even music cannot match. I wanted you to know that."

I felt my face split into a grin and leaned in to kiss her, a spinetingling passion running through my veins.

"What a profession!" I said. "I don't know if I can match your eloquence, but I shall try. I too, loved you from that moment, and had Phillipe allowed me to follow you to the opera, I would have. He had to hold me by my shirt to stop me from running after your departing carriage."

"You were always a tad headstrong," Christine cut in, laughing.

"Yes," I agreed. "I never forgot you, and when I saw you at the opera, I could hardly believe it. And when I found out you felt the same that night on the rooftop, I didn't sleep at all that night for my happiness. I shall confess something to you."

"What's that?"

"Despite all the girls that various relatives urged me to court, and the painful dinners I was forced to sit through, I never kissed a woman until that night with you. Because I could never think of kissing anyone but you."

"You told me of all the women your family put under your nose, and you never were tempted?" replied Christine, smiling. "You seemed rather an experienced kisser to me."

"It was only because I loved you so," I said. "I needed to make it count."

With that, she kissed my cheek, and hugged me tighter. I noticed however, that she was yawning.

"Go to sleep now, Little Lotte, and dream of our time by the sea. And if more nightmares plague you, I'm here."

She nodded, and I watched as her eyelids fluttered down before allowing my own to do the same.

A/N: I know, I know SHAMELESS R/C fluff. :) Erik will make an appearance in the next one-shot. Are you excited?


	4. Meeting of Rivals

Chapter 4: The Meeting of Rivals

Christine, Madame Giry, Meg, and I stood in the sitting room of my chateau. It was the night before the wedding, and the Giry's had come to retrieve Christine so she could stay the night at their newly accquired flat in order that they could help her get ready in the morning.

"Do you have all your things Christine?" asked Madame Giry. "You haven't forgotten anything?"

"No," she replied. "I've checked a hundred times to make sure I didn't forget."

Meg grinned broadly, standing up on her tiptoes in excitement. "This is so thrilling!" she exclaimed, pulling both Christine and I to her in an embrace with a strength I hadn't thought possible. "The two of you finally getting married, reunited after all those years, going through what you did! It's so wonderful!"

Christine and I both chuckled at her enthusiasm, and Madame Giry smiled wryly, ever calm.

"You are always the romantic, Marguerite," she said, tapping the floor with her cane. "Now we'd best get going. We all need our rest."

"Agreed," I said, turning to Christine. "Remember, Adelaide and Cosette are coming to the Giry's flat to help attend to you in the morning. I told them you probably didn't need anymore assistance, but they are rather excited about this, and brushed me off."

"Well it is their little brother's wedding after all, and the three of us get along splendidly," said Christine. "And Aunt Claire is coming here to meet you and Lucien?" she said, referring to my best man, and friend since my schoolboy days, who was due to arrive from his country estate in about half an hour.

"Yes," I said, leaning in to give her a swift kiss on the cheek. "Sleep well, my love."

"You as well," she said softly. She gazed into my eyes, her expression full of excitment and nerves as she grasped my hand. I could tell she was thrilled that our wedding day was finally almost here, but it was also the first night in the weeks since the opera disaster that we'd been parted. Christine's strong emotions were usually present in her eyes; I was the same. I squeezed her hand, eyes absorbed in hers.

"Now now you two," interrupted Madame Giry, thumping her cane on the floor once more. "There will be enough time for all of that tomorrow. Goodnight, Raoul. We shall see you in the morning."

I waved as she shooed the girls out the door, but before she closed the door behind her she turned and shot me her typical half smile. Outside the window I could hear Meg chattering happily to Christine as they climbed into one of my carriages which was to take them safely to the Girys' flat. I watched out the window as the carriage swept down the gravel driveway and out of my sight, twilight falling. Looking for something to distract myself before Lucien's arrival, I took a seat in my favorite armchair, slid on my reading glasses and picked up the copy of Victor Hugo's "The Hunchback of Notre Dame" that I'd been reading. I was hardly able to focus on the narrative however, because my thoughts kept floating to tomorrow. I was so lost in my own thoughts that I jumped in my seat when I heard the knock on the door. Jacques opened it, and I was greeted with the booming voice of Lucien as he entered the sitting room, his shaggy auburn hair a bit out of control as per usual.

"Raoul de Chagny, it's your very last night as a bachelor, what are we..." he stopped when he took a look at me.

"Why are you wearing your reading glasses Raoul?"

"Well, Lucien," I said with a laugh as I stood up to greet him. "I believe I was wearing them because I was reading. They are reading glasses after all."

"You are ever the bookish one, my friend," said Lucien, throwing himself down in the chair next to mine as he took off his coat. He reached over to slap me on the back. "You're supposed to enjoy the night before your wedding! How about a brandy?"

"Nice thought," I said. "Here, I'll get it." I walked into the kitchen and fetched some of the brandy Phillipe had left behind, making my stomache ache a bit for missing him. I took two small glasses, bidding my cook Pierre hello as he prepared dinner. "Here we are," I said, returning to the sitting room. "A nice before dinner drink." I poured Lucien a healthy amount, then poured my own.

"To the Comte de Chagny!" said Lucien, raising his glass high before clinking it with mine. "Being a mere Baron, I am humbled in your presence." With that he stood and made a mock bow.

"You're hilarious," I said drly, but unable to stop from laughing at my friend's melodramatic antics.

"Phillipe would be proud of you," he said. "And would be teasing you just as much. So, are you ready for tomorrow?" he asked. "Nervous?"

"A bit," I answered honestly, taking a sip of the brandy, feeling it's slight burn as it slid down my throat. "But more than ready. So when can I expect to the best man at your wedding?" I grinned.

"Well, I've got my eye on a few ladies," he replied, raising his eyebrows. "I swear Raoul, I just can't keep them from flocking to me."

I shook my head in laughter, sighing.

"But they're twits, most of them. My family seems to have bad taste in the ladies they've put under my nose. All the nice ones are often shy, so I have to get up my courage and talk to them. Or they're already taken. I can't tell you how many times I've started a conversation with a friendly woman at a party, only to look down and see her ring." he said. "I'm still waiting to get as lucky as you were with Christine, childhood sweethearts and all that. It's as if you two were characters in one of those novels you love so much. Christine's is very intelligent, has an unearthly singing talent, is absolutely beautiful, and not to mention is one of the sweetest creatures on the planet. Whatever did you do to deserve her, Raoul?" He laughed uproariously at his own wittiness.

"I'll be asking myself that question for the rest of my days," I answered. "Don't worry though, you'll find someone. We're young yet."

Lucien nodded, taking a last swig of his brandy. "Well," he said. "I think I'll go freshen up before we have dinner. I smell of the road."

I pinched my nose mockingly as he rose, recieving a whack on the head for my trouble. While Lucien was upstairs I decided to go out on the veranda, brandy in hand. I stopped by the door, eyeing my sword there. I picked it up and took it with me. Ever since the incidents in the graveyard and the lair,I refused to be caught unprepared for anything. I leaned on the railing, letting the warm spring air envelop me. The sun had nearly fallen beneath the treetops, it's last light laying in streaks on the wood. After a few moments I thought I heard someone approaching the confines of the back garden. Out of instinct I pulled my sword slowly out of it's sheath, moving closer to the stairs leading to the garden. A figure appeared, and for a moment I thought I'd absolutely lost every ounce of my sanity. Before me stood none other than Erik, dressed all in black, cloak blowing in the slight breeze, fedora pulled down low over a glinting white mask. I shook my head, realizing he was in fact, there, and I hadn't fallen prey to some waking nightmare or hallucination. I did not, however rush forward, but merely walked down the stairs and stood at the edge of the garden. I had learned my lesson about running headlong into anything the last time I'd encountered this man.

"I see you're a bit less impetuous than in the past," he said, meeting my gaze. "Wise of you."

"What in God's name are you doing here?" I asked, pointing my sword in front of me, but keeping my voice calm. "Come to kill me, have you?"

"I don't know what God's got to do with anything, but no boy, I haven't come to kill you. That would be going back on what I did, and I am, if anything, a man of my word. Besides, it would be a waste of my valuable time."

"A waste of your time?" I asked, attempting to stay in control. "You seemed content to put a great deal of energy into that particular errand in the not so distant past." I felt my heart racing in my chest, not so much out of fear, but out of painful anticipation of what this man could be doing here. He seemed to have no intention of answering my question. "Again, I'd really like to know what you're doing in my yard, monsieur."

His hand rested on his sword handle for a moment, and my muscles tensed up, readying myself for battle. After a few moments however, he removed his hand from the sheath. Nevertheless, I did not see fit to let my guard down. I lowered my sword, but did not sheath it.

"Paranoid, aren't you?" he said, narrowing his eyes at me and chuckling with satisfaction.

"I have reason to be," I said, narrowing my own. "What the hell do you want?"

"You and Christine are to be married tomorrow, yes?" he answered, still not really answering my question.

"You keep up well with the papers," I said in reply.

"Yes," he said, voice dripping with contempt. "I came here to ask you a few questions."

Despite my intent to stay calm, I could not hide my irritation.

"I have little to say to the man who killed my brother," I said, voice shaking with anger. "Or to the man Who wreaked absolute havoc on Christine's life. Leave. Now." My mind was overcome with memories of the night in the lair, Christine's distraught, tear stained face...the knock on my chateau door telling me my brother's body had been found...the rope sucking the life from my lungs... Christine's vivid nightmares...the chandelier crashing to the floor...Don Juan...

He glared at me. "Do not accuse me of committing a murder that I am not responsible for, de Chagny! Your brother must have fallen prey to one of the traps in the cellars. He was foolish to come after you. Those traps were there for my protection."

"Don't you dare talk to me about Phillipe." I said, my voice a harsh whisper. "Now leave me."

"Not until I've accomplished what I set out to do. I've come here to ask you some questions concerning your life with Christine. I won't leave until you've answered them."

I clenched my free fist, but gave in, not knowing what he would get up to if I didn't comply.

"Go on," I said, feeling tired. All of this on the night before my wedding, when I'd like nothing better than to laugh with Lucien and think of mine and Christine's future. Thinking of anything I could do to make her the happiest woman in the world, because she'd had enough pain.

"Your family," Erik pressed on. "They support your marriage? I see you haven't been stripped of your title."

"Yes, they support it." I said. "But even if I had been stripped of my title, I would not have EVER changed my mind about marrying Christine."

"And your fellow aristocrats, how do they feel about it all? The scandal of you marrying an opera singer?" His voice was biting.

This I knew, was a realistic question. My friends had been supportive, if not very curious about my decision, but there had been plenty of snide gossip amongst the wider aristocratic circle, particularly among the women, though I'd tried to shield Christine from it.

"All the people that matter have been more than supportive. As for everyone else, I really couldn't give a damn. And if they are anything but kind to Christine, they shall have to answer to me."

"And her music, I assume you will no longer allow her to sing in public, since she will be a Comtess?"

I stared at him, open mouthed. "Don't be ridiculous! Of course, she shall continue to sing! Whenever she's ready to perform again, I will fully support her. I couldn't ever take that away from her. What is this, an interrogation?"

"Of sorts," answered Erik, his tone short. "I intend to make sure I made the right decision in sending Christine off with you. Although why she sees you as a kindred spirit, I'll never know..."

At this I was incensed, and found words I never would have imagined saying to Erik pouring out of my mouth. "Christine and I were very close friends as children and young adolescents, and it turned into something more when we grew older," I began, trying to prevent my voice from rising again. "We've both always been dreamers, we have the same sense of humor, we share the same love of stories. We make each other feel safe and protected, and to Christine, that's very important, especially after she lost her father. Seeing her again after our years apart, I felt my soul drawn to her own. I love her with all that I am."

At the look on his face, pain mixed with oncoming anger he appeared to be trying to control, I stopped, sensitive with my words of love. There was no need to throw salt on his wounds. "And although my talent for music certainly isn't matched for yours or Christine's, I do very much have a passion for it. Why do you think I was so interested in lending my family's patronage to the opera?"

He gave a rather loud, "Ha!" at this, as though unbelieving.

"Gustav Daae taught me to play the violin, you know," I said. "I still play often."

His eyes widened in surprise, a look I hadn't seen on his features before. "You play?" he asked.

"I'm not brilliant, but I can play, yes."

At this he walked rapidly up to me and I pointed my sword in his direction.

"Put it away, monsieur," he said, throwing his own to the side as if to prove he wasn't after my life. I eyed him for a lasso, but didn't see one. I put my sword down by my side, but didn't drop it. I kept my hand up, ready to grab the rope should it appear.

We looked at each other, gazes burning. Suddenly he grabbed me by the front of my shirt, and I seized his wrist. We stood there like that for a moment, with the intensity of a blazing forest fire.

"I would never hurt her," I said, my voice firm. "She's my very life, and has been for a very long time. I'm assuming that's what you came here to check on?"

He tightened his grip on me, and I in turn, tightened my grip on him. I had the feeling however, that if he wanted to he could lift me off my feet. "Yes," he said, his voice going soft. "I cannot stand you, monsieur, but you were willing to sacrifice yourself for her...I just needed to be sure of my judgment." He let go, giving me a little push, and I released my grip on his wrist. "But if you hurt her, your life is mine."

"My life is safe, then," I said. "No one will hurt her while I still breathe, especially not me. I swear to you."

With that, he turned from me, and began walking away. I kept my eyes on him. Much to my surprise however, he turned back around.

"You didn't put a price on my head," he said. eyeing me intently once more. "You didn't send men after me. With your influence you could have had the entire police force on my tail."

It wasn't phrased as a question, but I knew it was one.

"You let us go," I nearly whispered, my tone more neutral now. "That was all I wished for, and leaving you alone was my thanks. There was no need to stir anything up; there had certainly already been enough pain for all of us. And...I couldn't have done that to Christine. She does care about your well being. You were her teacher, after all."

I saw a fleeting, sad smile cross his face.

"Goodbye, boy," he said. "And remember what I said."

I nodded, and he turned to go. He made his way across the yard, and then, without turning around, he muttered.

"And I'm sorry about your brother." It might have been just a whisper on the wind, but I could have sworn I heard him.

My eyes widened, and I watched him go, dissappearing into the shadows. We would forever be enemies, and there were hurts between us that would never heal, but there was a sort of...understanding. He understood I wasn't the shallow man he'd thought me, and trusted me with Christine's care. He realized that I did indeed, love Christine with an unceasing passion. I understood that underneath the crimes he'd committed, there was indeed a very real depth of humanity, a tragic past under the angry persona he presented to the public. I could see the change in him, the moment of redemption that had been wrought by Christine's compassion. I walked inside, still rather shocked at the entire encounter, and deciding when and how I would relate it to Christine. Her feelings toward him were such a mixture of both terror and compassion, that it would be hard to judge her reaction. I would tell her after the ceremony, I decided, as I wouldn't be seeing her before, and so as not to mar the moment with any worry. Although his intentions in coming had been decidedly good, Christine's wounds were still fresh. I would not under any circumstance, however, keep it from her for long, because honesty was important to the both of us. But I wanted our wedding day to be as wonderful as we'd always imagined. I walked inside to find Lucien sitting at the dining room table, waiting for me.

"I thought I saw you talking to someone out there Raoul. Who was it?"

"Lucien," I said, sitting down with a smile and putting my napkin on my lap. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

A/N: I'm not terribly sure how well this turned out, but I hope you guys like it. I worked it and re-worked it. I know a confrontation between the two might have been a tad more verbally violent, but I was attempting to show a sort of understanding between the two. I hope I kept them in character. Thanks for the reviews!


	5. The Wedding

Chapter 5: The Wedding

A/N: Hi all! Sorry it's been a while since I updated, life has tendency to get in the way. Anyways, I hope you all like this chapter. It's quite fluffy: it is a wedding after all. But I also tried to make some realistic points. Enjoy! Also, I decided to make this chapter from Christine's POV, just to change things up a bit.

Disclaimer: I obviously don't own anything to do with Phantom, sadly.

Christine's POV

I stood in front of the full length mirror in the dressing room of the church, my wedding day finally arrived. Raoul and I had considered getting married in Notre Dame, but had instead decided on this smaller Catholic church on the outskirts of Paris for a more intimate ceremony. Many of the nobility had been astounded that the Comte de Chagny had limited his guest list so, but Raoul wanted this to be our wedding, not the social event of the season. We'd invited all of Raoul's extended family, his friends from school and the navy, as well as a few of the more prominent noble families out of courtesy, along with all of my friends from the ballet corps at the Opera, who were all giddy with delight in their best gowns, along with Madame Giry and Meg, of course. Andre and Firmin were even here, no doubt already talking to my soon to be husband about refurbishing the ruined opera. I smiled broadly at the thought of Raoul, relishing the very idea that I'd be his wife in just a short while, a dream I'd harbored since we were children at the seaside. I brushed a stray hair from my face, looking at my reflection. I knew many brides wore their hair in an ornate up style, but Raoul had shyly requested if I might wear my hair down, because he liked it best that way. Madame Giry, who was currently putting the finishing touches to Meg's hair, had brushed any and every snarl out of my brown curls, and put some sort of hair product so that they'd stay in place instead of falling everywhere as they had the tendency to do when completely unrestricted with no barrettes of any kind. Atop my head sat a wreath of white flowers, a long veil flowing down. Madame Giry had fought quite hard to make sure it was pinned down. My dress fell to just above the floor, its short sleeves puffing out a bit at the top, a small bit of lace adorning the top of the bodice, a pale pink sash tied around the waist.

I could hardly believe this day had come, after all Raoul and I had been through together. I nearly shook with happiness. I imagined how handsome Raoul must look in his tuxedo, dark blonde hair slicked away from his face, blue eyes sparkling. His soul, it always seemed to me, emanated from those eyes. I'd hated seeing the sadness that had lately befallen his eyes: worries about me when I had another nightmare, nighmares of his own, the responsibility of being the new Comte, and grief over his beloved brother consuming them. Today, I was happy to believe, they would dance instead. I knew how much Raoul wished Phillipe could be here for this day, just as I wished my father could be here. Both I knew, were smiling down upon us from Heaven. Adelaide and cosette's happy chatter, however, pulled me from my revieres about their younger brother.

"You look simply beautiful Christine!" gushed Adelaide, taking both of her hands in mine in excitement. We'd become fast friends over the past few weeks, as the age difference was not much. "You put other brides to shame!"

I laughed. "I don't know about that, Adelaide, but thank you."

"In any case," replied Cosette with a soft smile. "You look lovely. Absolutely. My brother may faint at the sight of you."

Cosette, much less exhuberant than her younger sister, did not hand out compliments of that nature to just anybody, I knew. She was wary with her emotions and attachments, which Raoul said stemmed from losing both of their parents at a fairly young age and stepping in as a mother figure to both Adelaide and himself. So a compliment from her was well earned. I'd gotten to know her a bit better lately, but looked forward to more of that. The love she bore her brother was obvious from the look in her eyes.

"Raoul's much more stout hearted than that," I argued playfully. "I've never known him to faint."

"That might change when he sees you," said Adelaide, twisting one of her blonde curls around her finger.

A light knock on the door followed her words, and Raoul's Aunt Claire poked her head inside.

"Come find your seat, you two," she chided the sisters. "Give the poor girl a moment to breathe. You look ravishing, Christine my dear," she said, winking at me as she ushered my sisters in law to be inside the church, leaving me alone with Madame Giry and Meg, my surrogate family.

I smiled as I thought of the early wedding gift I'd had Aunt Claire leave in Raoul's dressing room: My father's prized violin, which had thankfully been rescued from the ballet dormitories after the fire. Happy tears sprung to my eyes, while a bittersweet memory beset my mind.

***Flasback***

I sat in a chair next to my father's sickbed, reading and talking to him intermittenly. The warm summer sun washed the windows, casting a glow on his pale face. My thirteen-year-old mind didn't dare try and cope with the fact that my father might not live out the year.

"Raoul's become quite the violin player, don't you think?" he asked, breaking the silence."He tells me he wants me to teach him the Ressurection of Lazarus this summer."

"He has," I agreed, blushing a smidge. "But he learned from you, after all. I was surprised the family arrived so early. They don't usually arrive until later in the season. Paris schools like Raoul's don't usually let out so soon."

"But you're pleased?" pried Gustav, grinning despite his fatigue. "Our little Raoul is turning into quite the handsome young man.."

"Papa!" I exclaimed blushing furiously before clearing my throat and continuing. "Of course I'm pleased he's here. Raoul is my best friend, and I miss him during the year. I noticed Monsieur Phillipe looked awfully tired, though."

"I do believe Phillipe has looked tired ever since his father died the year after you and Raoul met when you were seven and eight. Taking over the position of Comte is no easy task. But his eyes do light up when he looks at Raoul; he's practically like the boy's father."

"Raoul adores him," I agreed, smiling at the thought of my friend, my heart beating a little faster. "From what Raoul says though, Phillipe has no current plans to marry. Sadly, Raoul told me that the girl Phillipe loved died when she and Phillipe were younger, and he never quite recovered, which means he's most likely grooming Raoul to be the Comte one day."

"I'd gathered it was something like that, from what Phillipe's told me. I'm sure Raoul will do a fine job," my father answered, eyes glittering with mischief.

"What?"I questioned, unable to stop from grinning.

"Nothing, my darling," he said, running an affectionate hand down my cheek, brushing a few stray brown curls out of the way. "You're just growing up rather fast for my taste is all."

I shook my head at him, unable to supress a chuckle. A few minutes passed, and my father broke the silence.

"You know," he said. "I believe that when my time comes, I will pass my violin down to Raoul. You shall have everything else of course, but I think he should ike the violin."

"Papa!" I exclaimed, dropping my book and grasping his hands. "Don't say such things!"

"Well my dear, even if it is not soon, I will eventually pass from this world. And I think Raoul would be the perfect person to inherit my violin. I shall trust you to give it him."

"But Papa, who knows where I will be when that happens? Raoul is set to spend at least a year in the navy when he finishes school, and..." my heart clenched at both the idea of my father leaving me, and not seeing Raoul again. "What if I don't see Raoul after he goes? He'll have to get married when he returns, surely, if he's to inherit the title one day."

"Christine," interrupted my father, squeezing my hand. "I trust that you will see him again when he returns from the navy. I have a knack for knowing these sorts of things. Everything else in my possession will be yours, but do promise you'll give Raoul the violin. It will give me comfort to know the two of you will be togther..."

***End Flashback***

My mind slid out of the memory, and I wiped a single tear away, wishing more than anything that my father would be here today, to walk me down the aisle, to embrace Raoul as his official son in law. Somehow, it seemed, my father had always known this day would come, despite the obstacles. I had been lucky, I knew, to have had such a close, loving relationship with my father, even though I had lost him early.

Thoughts of my father turned me to thoughts of Erik, and I wondered where he might have gone. A part of me was still terribly angry with him for pretending to have been an angel sent by my father. He knew how much my father meant to me and yet he had continued on with his facade. He had tried to kill Raoul. He had committed abhorrent crimes against innocent people.

And yet, I wished him peace. Above anything else, I wished him that. Yes, his actions would always haunt both myself and Raoul, they had changed us, and we would need time to recover, but I did very much care about Erik. How could I not, when I had seen what a broken man he was? Raoul had told me about Madame Giry's story of the gypsy fair, and it had made me shudder that any human should be treated in such a manner. Madame had mentioned that she had recieved a letter from Erik, telling her that he was leaving Paris, perhaps even France altogether, at least for a time. From the depths of my soul, I wished my former teacher happiness, and that his musical genius, his passion, would be appreciated. He deserved that.

Madame Giry herself placed a hand on my shoulder, giving it a slight squeeze.

"It's nearly time, Christine my dear," she said, her signature half smile on her face.

Meg took one last glance in the mirror then came over to join us, her blonde tresses done in an elegant updo, her dark green dress, making her bright green eyes even more apparent. I gazed at them, my surrogate family. They had stayed with Raoul and I at his chateau for the first two weeks following the disaster, as they had nowhere else to go. Madame, ever prudent, had saved a great deal of the money her late husband had left her, proceeding to buy a small flat for she and Meg. The money she had saved would last them for a while, hopefully until they could procure work at one of the other opera houses in Paris. I had no doubt that with both their skills it would be easy, but I still worried. Losing our home had not been easy on any of us, but if they were ever to need anything, Raoul had made it clear, despite Madame's pride, that they would be provided for.

"Are you happy Christine?" asked Meg, taking both of my hands in her own, eyes aglow. She had sombered a bit since the disaster, but she was still the Meg I loved, the girl who was practically my sister.

"I am," I said, pulling her into a hug. "Very much so. It means so much to me that you're my maid of honor. I hope that soon I'll have the same priviledge."

"I could think of no one else," she said softly. "Now if only Mr. Right would appear." She giggled, a glimpse of the girl emerging from the woman she'd become.

"You will," answered her mother, squeezing her shoulder affectionately. "Now we must get out there." She ushered Meg into the foyer, then turned to me and embraced me. "I'm very proud of you my dear," she said, pulling me close. "Everything will be all right...for all of you, I promise."

By "you" I knew she meant, Erik, Raoul, and myself. I knew she and Erik had an odd sort of friendship, and somehow she was able to be there for both Raoul and me, as well as keeping in touch with Erik. She had also developed quite an affection for Raoul, as I'd imagined my own mother would have, had she been alive. She was truly a remarkable woman.

"Thank you Madame," I said, kissing her cheek. "For everything."

She nodded as we broke apart, and made our way to the doorway. She quickly took her seat in the front row as the music began. I watched Meg walk up the aisle with all the grace of a dancer and take her place at the altar. The church was decorated with dozens of lillies, pure white and in full bloom.

"I love you Papa," I whispered to the air, knowing his spirit was here with me

The choir began to sing Ave Maria, and I took my first step. That was when I dared to look at Raoul, and nearly lost my breath. He looked as handsome as I'd ever seen him in his black tuxedo, standing tall and proud. He'd cut his hair a bit a few weeks ago, to where it fell just past his ears. The events of the past months had caused us to grow up quite fast, and there was no doubt that a full fledged man stood before me. But within the depths of his dancing blue eyes, I could still see the boy who had rescued my scarf, my best friend from the years at the seashore, the man I'd fallen in love with upon the roof of the Paris Opera. Raoul's old friend Lucien stood proudly beside him, winking at me good-naturedly as I approached. Adelaide blew a kiss to me as I passed, and I grinned broadly. I finally reached the altar, and Raoul took both of my hands loosely in his, mouthing, "You look beautiful." I squeezed his hands, happy tears threatning me. We turned to the priest, ready to be united forever as husband and wife. I wanted nothing more.

The ceremony progressed just as we'd planned, and my whole body tingled with excitement when Father Turner spoke his final words.

"I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride." He gestured toward Raoul with a bright smile.

My eyes met Raoul's, hardly able to believe this had finally come true. He looked at me as though I were something from Heaven. He slid his hand gently against my cheek, bringing his lips down upon mine. I smiled into the kiss, reveling in the fact that I was now Comtess Christine de Chagny, the wife of the love of my life. After all we'd been through, it had finally happened. The recessional music began, and Raoul tucked my arm through his, pulling me close. Once we reached the end of the aisle he picked me up and twirled me around, laughing.

"Raoul!" I exclaimed, laughing as well. "Have you lost your senses?"

"Perhaps, Little Lotte," He said, kissing me once more as he put me down. "Perhaps."

"Did you find your gift?" I asked, running an affectionate hand across his cheek.

"I did," he replied, eyes twinkling. "It's an absolute honor. I'm not sure I deserve it..."

"Of course you do!" I protested. "My father specifically requested I pass it down to you, in fact. That last summer we were together before he died. He loved you Raoul, like the son he never had."

At this, Raoul gathered me into an embrace, squeezing me tight. "You've no idea how much that means to me. It's as if he knew this day would come," he said, his voice nearly a whisper. He pulled back, hand still resting on my arms. "Now I have something to show you in return. Remember how I wouldn't let you keep the wedding rings after we picked them out?"

"Yes," I said, curious now.

"Take the ring off and look at the engraving inside."

I did as he asked, my heart nearly stopping when I saw what he'd had engraved upon the shining gold: "Love me, that's All I Ask of You, RC."

I looked up, unable to stop from kissing him.

"I see you like it," he responded with a grin. "Mine says the same. I just wanted it to be a surprise."

"You are full of wonderful surprises, love," I said, taking his hand in mine as we walked toward the door. "And we've got a lifetime of them ahead of us."

Several hours later, Raoul and I found ourselves inside his carriage, finally alone. The reception had been a grand amount of fun, and I felt quite full from the food, champagne, and wedding cake, my feet sore from dancing. We were on our way home to the chateau, and would prepare to leave for the seaside in just five days time. After spending a few weeks there, Raoul had planned a trip to several countries around Europe, England and Italy included. Raoul wrapped his arm around me, and I leaned into his embrace. I fit perfectly, as though God had intended it that way.

"Christine? he asked after a few content minutes had passed. "May I tell you something?"

"Of course darling," I said, looking up at him.

His expression, which had been full of glee all day, grew serious.

"I don't know if this is the right time to tell you, but I didn't want to keep it from you..."

"What is it?" I asked, concerned.

"Erik came to the chateau yesterday evening."

"What?" I questioned. "I..."

"He meant no harm, I believe," said my husband. "He came to ensure that you would be well taken care of. To ensure that he made the correct choice in sending you with me. He sent you his best wishes."

I stared at Raoul, hardly able to take the information in. The image of my teacher and my fiance having a non violent meeting was difficult to comprehend. But it also let me know that Erik had truly given us his blessing of sorts, which was a strange sort of comfort. I was glad to know he had at least begun to emerge from the ashes. I was eternally grateful to him for letting me go with Raoul, for his act of compassion, and I truly hoped he knew just how much.

"So the two of you had a conversation?" I asked.

"Of sorts," he said. "Believe me, we won't be going to have some brandy together anytime soon, but we had an understanding."

"Well," I answered, "I don't quite know what to say."

"I just wanted to be honest with you," he whispered, clearly hoping he'd made the right move.

"Thank you," I said. "Thank you for telling me, I appreciate it." I kissed his cheek. "The details can wait for later, I imagine," I continued, raising my eyebrows and smiling.

"Yes," he said, leaning in to kiss me, his eyes hazy. "I imagine they can."

We reached the drive of the chateau, and exited the carriage. We bid Jacques goodnight, and once we reached the door, Raoul opened it, then proceeded to pick me up.

"What are you doing?" I asked, not able to stop from laughing.

"Why, I'm sweeping you over the threshold my lady," he said, a grin taking over his features. He walked inside, shutting the door with his foot and making his way to what was now our bedroom. He put me carefully down. All my things had been moved into the master suite today while we had been gone, and soon we were both changed into our nightclothes. We gazed at each other from other sides of the room. My heart pounded in my chest, slight nerves overtaking me. I had thought of this very night for weeks, and now here it was, the night when we would be joined as one, the ultimate symbol of love between a husband and wife. I surveyed my new husband for a moment, memories flooding my mind. To me, he would always be my savior, no matter how he protested. He spoke first.

"Are you alright, my love? he asked, a slight blush creeping into his cheeks. We were both new at this, and understandably nervous.

"Yes," I said truthfully, noticing that he'd never looked quite as handsome as he did at the current moment. I blushed as well, but my entire body tingled with anticipation.

At my words he made his way across the room to me, intertwining his fingers with mine and pulling me gently toward him, both our hands shaking slightly. "You're radiant," he said. "An angel." He left the ghost of a kiss on my neck.

"I love you," I said, moving even closer. His eyes were like blue diamonds in the darkness.

"I love you too," he said, nearly breathless. "Oh God, you've no idea how much. Christine..." Our foreheads rested together. His eyes searched mine, looking for permission, to be absolutely sure I was ready. Ever a gentlemen, and I loved him for it.

"I'm ready Raoul," I said, breathless myself. "I've been ready since that night you kissed me on the rooftop amidst the snow and the light of Paris."

His lips came down upon mine with more passion than I'd ever imagined possible. I wrapped my arms around his neck, reveling in the magical moments to come.

A/N: I hope you all liked this! I worked quite hard on it, so I'm hoping it comes across well. Thank you very much for the reviews you've left so far! 


	6. Confronting Demons

Chapter 5: Confronting Demons

A/N: Hi all! Thanks for your reviews so far, they are much appreciated! This chapter is again from Christine's POV. There will be more from Raoul's, I just like to get some perspective from both of these characters. This one is a tad darker than the others , but I hope you like it!

Christine's POV

I blinked my eyes open slowly as I felt Raoul's hands slip gently from around my waist and watched him rise from the bed, tossing back his portion of the dark blue, green and white striped duvet. He pulled his maroon dressing gown over his sleeping pants and made his way toward our bedroom door, obviously not noticing I'd awakened. The waves rolled back and forth upon the sand outside our window.

"Raoul?" I questioned.

He jumped slightly, surprised at hearing my voice.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to wake you. Go back to sleep." He turned to smile at me, but it didn't quite reach his eyes.

"Are you all right?" I asked, worried.

"I'm fine," he said, offering me that same smile again, as if I didn't know him better. "I'm just going to get a drink of water."

With that he padded quickly out of the room and down the stairs of the small seaside home that Aunt Claire had given us as a wedding gift so we would be able to come here anytime we liked. We'd been here on our honeymoon for two weeks now, and it had been as wonderful as I'd predicted. We spent the days in each other's company, reveling in the simple joy of being together once again in the place where we'd first met. We spent the days picnicing along the seashore, looking for shells, laughing and teasing each other, or telling stories, the old legends of the North, that had thrilled us so as children. Sometimes Raoul would play my father's violin, and I would sing along with tunes my father had taught us, encouraging Raoul to sing as well. We spent the nights in each other's embrace, expressing our love and our passion in the ways of a married couple. We memorized each other's every detail, as though we feared we'd be ripped apart, never to meet again. We would whisper together until our words were nothing but incoherent mumblings in the darkness, always falling asleep with hands linked, or arms around each other. I leaned back against he pillows, waiting for Raoul to return. When 10 minutes passed and he failed to do so, I slid on my white dressing gown and felt his side of the bed; it was damp from sweat, which I suspected had occured from a nightmare. I found him sitting at the little mahogany dining room table, head resting in one hand, while the other swished the glass of water before him, his eyebrows furrowed in thought. Ironically, a small chandelier hung from the ceiling, inches above his head. It certainly wasn't on the scale of the one that had hung from the opera house ceiling, or even the one in our chateau in Paris, but it still brought back memories, memories which I was sure were plauging Raoul now.

"Raoul, darling, what are you doing down here?" I asked, sitting down in the chair next to him.

"I couldn't sleep," he answered, his face lighting up a bit as he looked at me. "Nothing to worry about."

"There is something to worry about," I emphasized. "Please tell me."

"I don't want to worry you..."

"Raoul, I'm your wife, we're supposed to tell each other everything," I protested, "share our lives together. And in any case, you always encourage me to tell you when something's not right."

"Yes, but that's different," he argued, something in his stubborn expression reminding me of the boy I'd once known.

"How?" I pressed on. "I want to be there for you as you are always there for me. I know you want to protect me, but you don't have to protect me from your own thoughts, your own feelings."

"You're right," he said, taking one of my hands in his and absentmindedly running light circles on upon my skin.

"Then what is it?" I asked. "What caused you to wake?"

He looked up at me, and I saw the slight, tired purple bags under his eyes, indicating that perhaps he hadn't been sleeping well for a few days. We'd been so wrapped up in our carefree days and passionate nights that I had not noticed them before. His radiant smile had hidden them from view.

"Nightmares," he said, his voice low. "Nightmares of that night, in the lair." He squeezed my hand tighter.

There it was, the dreaded subject. We'd talked of it before, of course, but in snatches, mostly after my unceasing nightmmares. We'd filled the Giry's and and Raoul's family in on the barest details, and been questioned by the police, but the two of us had not yet had a long, proper conversation about the effects of the ordeal that haunted the both of us; we hadn't been ready. We'd so desperatley wanted to take hold of the happiness we'd nearly lost. And we had. And we would continue to do so. But there was no more avoiding that night. It was best to talk now, we both knew, while it was just the two of us at Perros. It wouldn't do to put it off for when we left on our tour of Italy, and certainly not when we returned to Paris, where we would be swept up in a tide of greetings and responsibilities.

"Would you like to go out on the shore and talk?" he asked, obviously knowing all of this was true. "The moon should be bright enough."

I nodded, and Raoul slipped the keys into his dressing robe pocket.

"Should we be going out barefoot and in our nightclothes?" I asked. I was still learning the ropes of Paris high society, but I was quite sure going out in such attire was against the rules.

"We'll leave propriety for Paris," he said with a roguish grin. "Besides, I seriously doubt anyone else is out." With that, he took my hand and locked the door. We walked down the creaky wooden stairs to the beach, making our way to the surf, the chilly water making my feet tingle.

"What would the Paris elite say, if they knew the Comte de Changy and his new bride were walking about in their barefeet?" I teased. "And in nightclothes too! Without even decent overcoats, the shame!"

He laughed, and it made my heart lift to hear it. "Why, I do think it shall overshadow the scandal of the Opera Ghost!" he exclaimed, waving his hand dramatically. "It shall be all over the papers."

I chuckled, knowing he had meant to be funny, but the gravity of his words left an impact. Althought his family name was still very powerful, as his bloodline was one of the oldest in France, the opera house scandal, Phillipe's death included, had caused problems for Raoul's reputation. For his family's reputation. He brushed it off, saying that all Paris scandals faded in time, and had not so politely told the papers to cease spreading false gossip about either of us, or his family, unless they wanted to face a lawsuit, but it still concerned me. He caught my expression.

"Oh, Christine, I'm sorry," he said, stopping in his tracks and turning to me. "Don't go thinking any of that nonsense was your fault, it's all just ridculous gossip. I was trying to lighten the mood with humor."

"I know," I said, smiling at him. "Please, tell me about your nightmare."

He sighed, and we were back to the conversation at hand, putting away Little Lotte and the boy who rescued her red scarf, and bringing out the adult Raoul and Christine, the Comte and Comtess de Chagny. We walked again.

"Part of the dream was simply a repeat of what happened that night," he said, keeping his voice steady. "I could see your heartbroken, tearstained face as you put your arms out to try and protect me from Erik, faced with your terrible choice. You pleading with him to free me, me pleading with you to just let me die for your freedom. His voice kept ringing in my ears...telling you to make your choice, that we couldn't possibly win, his eyes glowing in the barely lit cavern, the rope burning my neck, my whole body drenched in the water from the lake," his voice trembled slightly, but he recovered it. "Your kiss that saved us all. I felt the same desperation to rescue you, the same fear that you would be forever trapped there."

"Oh darling," I whispered, knowing exactly how he felt. I tugged on his hand, indicating that we should sit on the sand. He obliged, but I noted that he didn't take my hand back. Indeed, his own hand was shaking, and I could tell he was trying to hide it for my sake.

"The dream didn't end the same way it did in reality," he stated, unable to meet my gaze.

I felt I knew what would come next, but I wasn't fully prepared for my beloved's reaction.

"You stayed with him," Raoul whispered. "You told me you would always love me as your best friend, but that you were in love with him, that he evoked a passion within you that was unmatched by anything else, that he was the love of your life and you wouldn't be parted from him. That we couldn't pick up where we'd left off as children and young adults, that our romance was nothing more than a shell of the past. Before I could even try to talk to you the mob appeared, bearing Phillipe's dead body from the lake, his eyes wide open and glazed over...then I woke up." Raoul's whole body shook. As a noble and a former sailor, he had been taught to keep his emotions within, but I needed to coax them out of him, for fear he might implode.

I reached out for him, but before I could touch him he rose, back turned.

"Christine, you must know how much I love you, that there could never be anyone else for me, but I need to know the truth. Please tell me if you love him. I promise, I won't be angry." He didn't turn around to face me as he ran a shaking hand through his already mussed hair. "I know you were acting in Don Juan, but the darkest voices in the back of my mind try to tell me you weren't..."

I rose, shaking myself, overcome with emotion,tears flooding my eyes. "I care for him," I said. "I harbor an affection for the man who was my teacher, who, in my still childish mind, I thought was the angel of music my father promised. His music is unlike anything I've ever heard before, and as a musician myself, I greatly admire it. It inspires me." I walked up behind my husband and placed a hand on his shoulder. "But you must listen when I tell you that it is you I am in love with, it is you who I want to spend the rest of my life with, to have children with, to laugh and cry and share life's up's and down's with."

He turned to me, a sad smile on his handsome features, which were accentuated in the moonlight.

"I've never wanted anything but your happiness," he said, taking my hand back. "Even if that means that I won't be part of the equation. Even if that meant you wanted to be with him. If it's him you want, we can arrange it. I'll get you back to Paris, we'll find where he is, Madame must know..."

"I want you," I said, cutting him off, desperately needing him to hear me, needing him to believe what was in the depths of my very being. "It's you. It's always been you. Even when we were children and I didn't know what it was. I felt it blossom when we met again as adolescents, and I've never let it go. I believe it was the work of the angels that returned you to me at the opera. You are my heart and soul, my savior. You must trust me, Raoul." I gazed at him, a plea in my expression.

He looked at me, eyes widened slightly. He paused, unsure, then rested his forehead against mine.

"I do. I'm so sorry for my doubt; here I am, always asking you to trust me, and I'm holding back. I must not let my fears get in the way. Neither of us can let that happen. That dream just got the better of me; it made the fear of losing you course through my veins, and struck me once again with the pain of losing my brother. " He shivered, pulling me in closer. "But something is haunting you too. I know it. Please, tell me."

I was quiet for a moment, reveling in the feel of the waves lapping against my feet, sqeezing the wet sand between my toes.

"I feel terrible for Erik," I admitted. "He terrified me, he still does in many ways. He lied to me for so long, and he tried to kill you, crimes which nearly ripped me apart. I won't ever forget them; my dreams won't let me. It's difficult for me sometimes, to comprehend how a man of such genius, a man who can compose such magestic beauty, who helped my voice soar, is still capable of commiting murder and causing such terror."

Raoul and I sat back down, and this time Raoul turned to comfort me, wrapping his arm around my shoulders, my head resting against his chest.

"I imagine one might say the world made him that way," Raoul said. "His crimes aren't excused, and he had no right to decieve you and put us through what he did, but no human being deserves to be treated the way he was by those dreadful gypsies. It just isn't right. And who knows of his past before then, or what he faced. It can't have been good."

I nodded. "I can't forget his broken expression when I went back to give him the ring, his tears, his plea that he loved me. He was like a little boy who had never been loved. I just..." I felt my voice giving out, the image of Erik singing along with his monkey music box to the tune of Masquerade implanted in my mind.

"You can tell me, love," said Raoul, turning me to face him.

"Despite the hurts he caused us," I continued, sighing deeply in an attempt to steady myself. "I feel the need to let him know that I care, that I did love him as my teacher. I cannot give him what he desires most, but I want him to know I don't hate him, and that there is someone in the world, aside from Madame, who cares about his happiness. I don't know if that will help his pain at all, but I feel I must try. I don't know if he shall let himself find another route to happiness, but I like to hope that there is one for him, someday, when he is ready. I want him to know that I believe that. And I want to thank him for seeing past his own wants and letting me be with you, for seeing how much I loved you. For seeing that if he truly loved me, he would let me go. He needs to know how much his sacrifice meant to me. To us. I want him to find a way to start anew, if he can. His broken expression..." my voice trembled, "haunts me."

Raoul wiped the tears away from my face with his thumb, his own hand shaking slightly again. "He was a hard man to read the other night in the garden, but I don't doubt that some word from you could perhaps ease his pain. Perhaps we could arrange with Madame to send a letter to wherever he has gone when we return to Paris, as she hinted quite strongly that she knew where he was."

I looked up at Raoul, intriuged by his reaction. The seabreeze blew a little harder, whirling our hair about us.

"I think a letter is a splendid idea," I agreed, thinking that it seemed the most logical path. "You don't mind?" I asked, taking both of his larger hands in my small ones.

"No," he said. "I don't hesitate at anything that will put you at ease. He shall never be my favorite person, certainly, and there are horrors he caused that will not soon leave our memory, but that does not mean I don't feel sympathy for him. I know how I would feel, had I lost you. And I think there is a sense of closure that needs to be secured. Well, as much as can be secured, I suppose. There is nothing easy about any of this, for any of us. But maybe it will give all of us a chance to rise up from it."

He kissed my forhead, and then looked up at the star strewn sky, as though contemplating what this entire ordeal had meant in the grande scheme of the heavens. We sat in silence for a few minutes, leaning against one another, until I felt my own eyes drooping, looking over to see Raoul's doing the same. I couldn't help but smile. Were were in this together. We would always be in everything together, for better or for worse. The way it was meant to be.

"Christine?" he asked, breaking the peaceful silence.

"Yes?" I asked, turning to meet his gaze.

"Do you think you'll ever wish to sing in public again?" His voice was so soft, so gentle. He treated the sensitive subject as if it were a piece of fragile china.

"I don't know," I answered honestly, my heart aching. "Singing, music will always be a part of my life, but I'm just not sure...there's so many mixed memories. I was thrilled when my voice improved so under Erik's tutelage. I remember my debut in Hannibal, the wonderful rush it gave me, and then..." Don Juan flashed before my eyes, and I shut my eyes against it, opening them once again to look at Raoul, and remind myself that I was safe here. "Perhaps someday I will sing on stage again. Perhaps."

Raoul pulled me to him, and I reveled in his embrace, feeling as though his arms had been molded to fit my form.

"I know how much it means to you," he said. "But I also know the pain it causes. But if you should ever wish to perform again, just say the word."

"Thank you," I said, my words slighty muffled against his skin.

"For what?" he asked, meeting my eyes. I was pleased to see the light returning to them.

"For being so understanding," I said. "For being you. I love you, Raoul. You've no idea how much."

He smiled, and this time it reached his eyes. "I love you too, Christine de Chagny."

I leaned toward him, and our lips met, two souls coming together beneath the moonlit sky, shattering any remaining shards of our doubt.

"We'll be fine, Little Lotte, we'll make it through." he said, entwining his fingers gently in my windswept curls. "We have each other."

"Always," I said, smiling up at him, losing myself in his blue eyes. "Always."


	7. Stepping into New Shoes

Chapter 7: Stepping into New Shoes

A/N: Hi there! I just wanted to add in a couple of notes here before I get started. I realized that I'd been using the word chateau for Raoul and Christine's home in Paris, which is incorrect, because that would actually be the correct name for the family's country house. I also looked it up, and there actually is a town in France called Chagny, which is near Burgundy, so I'm going to make that the area where the de Chagny family originated, where they are in charge etc. It will come up in later chapters. But for now, please enjoy this chapter!

Raoul's POV

I sat in the study of the Paris townhouse, the evening sun peeking through the windows, a significant pile of papers resting in front of me. Christine and I had returned from our honeymoon a week and half ago; it had been a true breath of fresh air. We had spent three peaceful weeks at the seaside, then toured Italy for a month, taking the in the majesty of Rome, the simple beauty of Assisi, and the romance of Venice. I had been to Italy as a boy, and during my stint in the navy, but it was Christine's first trip, and it was a lovely sight to watch how the travel put the color back in her cheeks. Our next trip we had decided, would be to Sweden, for I had often longed to see Christine's homeland. Then perhaps, we would travel to England. I smiled, thinking back on the fond memories of the trip, wishing it hadn't sped by so quickly. It was these lovely memories however, that were keeping me going through the snares of this paperwork. I had attended to Phillipe's will before the wedding, but there was still much to go through, much for me to learn. I heard a firm knock on the door.

"Come in," I called, looking up to see our butler Jacques in the doorway bearing a cup of tea.

Jacques had begun working for Phillipe very soon after our father died, and had known me since I was a small child. He had been a loyal friend to Phillipe, and the whole family bore an affection for him. Now that my beloved brother had passed on, Jacques had been an irreplaceable help in helping me adjust to my new position. I had learned a great deal from Phillipe, but it was comforting to have Jacques' assistance.

"Marie thought you might need this," he said, offering me the tea, which I took gratefully. Marie had been the family's housekeeper since she was a young woman, and had been a companion to the mother I'd never known. Because of this, she'd always acted especially motherly toward me. "So she asked me to bring it to you. It's been two hours since you left this room."

"Thank you," I said, taking a sip of the tea. "I'm just trying to sort out the bank accounts and things, making sure everything is settled with the lawyers and getting things transferred over to my name."

I sighed suddenly feeling much older than my almost 21 years.

"It's a great amount to deal with," answered Jacques, resting his hand on the chair on the other side of my desk. "But you are doing well. You would make your brother proud," he said, a hint of sadness in his voice, but a glint of pride in his eye. I'll leave you to it, but should you need anything I'll be in the ballroom checking things for the party this evening."

I smiled at the older man, his dark brown hair starting to be streaked with grey in a very dignified sort of manner. "Thank you Jacques. For everything."

"You are most welcome," he said, shooting me a wry half smile before shutting the door behind him.

I leaned back in the leather chair for a moment, gazing around at the bookshelves in my study and missing my brother. After the chaos of our return to Paris died down a bit I hoped to take Christine to the de Chagny chateau near Burgundy, where I had spent many a day in my childhood playing within its expansive grounds, my imagination running rampant. Phillipe always made regular visits there, to check on it's upkeep, and I intended to do the same. We spent a great deal of time there when I was a child, but as I grew older we spent the majority of time in Paris, and it was neccessary to make trips there every so often. My elder sister Cosette was there now with her husband, son, and daughter, and I expected a letter from her any day to make sure everything was in order, and telling her when Christine and I might join her.

I heard another knock on the door, this one softer. I grinned, knowing it was Christine.

"Come in, love," I said.

Christine opened the door, light flooding the rapidly darkening study. I looked up, nearly dropping my pen at how beautiful she looked. Her beautiful chocolate curls were swept loosely up with the tortishell combs Adelaide had given her as a wedding gift, with a few wispy curls sweeping her forhead. I smiled when I noticed a few renegade curls attempting to slip out of their places. She wore a beautiful dress of midnight blue, a white sash tied around the middle, and the pearls I'd given her as one of my wedding gifts.

"Do I look presentable?" she asked, twirling around, her heels sliding on the wood.

"You look breathtaking, darling," I answered, standing up to kiss her on the cheek.

"You always say that," she teased, poking me in the chest. "But do I look presentable for this occasion? Where I'm to be officially introduced as your wife? The wife of the Comte de Chagny?"

"Truly, you look perfect," I said, taking both of her petite hands in mine. "You shall put the other ladies to shame."

She smiled slightly, still looking a tad unsure. "I know you try to shield me from it Raoul, but I'm aware that there are people in your circle who look down upon our marriage..."

"Christine," I cut in, "You know I don't..."

"I know you don't pay them any mind," she said. "But I want to show all those who doubt you and me that I can fit in just as well as any noble born woman, that I possess what it takes to be a Comte's wife and all the duties it brings. I want to make you proud."

"I'm always proud of you," I answered seriously, squeezing both of her hands. "You've taken to all this so well. Sometimes I wish I weren't a noble, all the expectations and ettiquite are so damned complicated."

"They are," she answered. "But with yours and Adelaide's help I've learned quickly. Your family has been such a blessing throughout all of this."

"They are wonderful," I replied, smiling at the thought of them all. "And I've no doubt this celebration will be splendid. You and Adelaide did a wonderful job planning."

"With some input from you," she said, pecking me on the lips.

"Yes," I said. "But if you get nervous, or uncomfortable, I'll be there. Remember that. I remember when I attended my first party that my parents put on. I was nervous, and I'd grown up with that sort of business all my life. And you and I will be the center of attention at this particular engagement, unfortunately."

"We will," she said. "I'm hoping that if I can sing on stage, that I can be the center of attention at a party. It is different, though."

"It is, but I think you'll be just fine. Just master the art of small talk."

"I'll work on that," she answered. "Now, we need to get you upstairs and ready. It's nearly time to be downstairs." She cast a sidelong glance at the stack of paperwork on my desk and we exited the study.

"You've been in there for a few hours," she said, her voice softer now. "Are you making any headway with Phillipe's affairs?"

"I'm almost done," I answered, pushing open the door to our bedroom. "There was a lot to be done with just transferring things over, making absolutely sure all of the things in his will were done as he wished. Loose ends."

I stopped in front of the bed, where Christine had laid out my clothes for the evening. Phillipe had been such a good companion at parties like these; he spoke easily with people, he was charming and humorous. This would be the first one I'd attended, let alone hosted, since his death. I sighed, feeling a pair of warm arms encircle my waist, a familiar chin resting on my shoulder.

"I know you miss him," she said. "I think you miss him like I miss my father. It's not something that's easy to escape from."

"I think you're right," I agreed. "Perhaps one day next week we should make a visit to Phillipe's grave and then to your father's. We could take some new flowers."

"I'd like that," she said, kissing the side of my head and letting go so I could get dressed.

Christine sat at her vanity across the room, putting the final touches to her makeup, as I put on my formal clothing for the evening; black trousers, a white shirt with a silver waistcoat, black evening jacket, and a medium blue cravat which Christine had purchased for me soon after we'd returned to Paris, saying that it matched my eyes. I leaned over to glance in the mirror, running my fingers through my now shorter hair. In its reflection I caught sight of Christine sitting at her vanity, and noticed an evelope and a sheet of paper resting on its edge. It appeared that she had begun writing, but everything was scratched out, as though she had gotten frustrated. I finished dressing and sat in the chair beside Christine's vanity.

"You look lovely," I said, meeting her gaze as she turned to face me, struck once again by her ethereal beauty.

"Thank you," she said, reaching over to take one of my hands in hers. "You look quite dashing yourself. I'd better keep an eye on you or one of those women will steal you away."

Her eyes twinkled with mirth, and it made my heart swell to see her looking happy once more; she'd had to endure far too much sadness for someone who was not quite 20. Remembering how gleeful and spirited she'd been as a child and young adolescent, and then seeing her so melancholy and frightened upon our reunion at the opera, had made my heart ache. I wished to put the jagged pieces of her soul back together, although I knew they wouldn't fit together the same way as they once had. Nevertheless, I hoped they were beginning to come together again. We both glanced at the paper, Erik's presence haunting us even though he was presumably quite far away.

"I tried to begin the letter," she said, looking at me again. "But the words simply wouldn't come out right. All of this is so complicated." She sighed, scooting her chair closer to lean her head on my shoulder.

"You will figure out what to say," I assured her, stroking the top of her curly head. "You will."

"Perhaps I'll try again tomorrow," she said, lifting her head back up to give me a slight smile.

I squeezed her hand, knowing how difficult this must be for her. She was still recovering from all that had occured, from all the lies and the hurt; the nightmares still came. But sympathy for her former teacher still poured forth. Christine was kind from the very depths of her soul, and, I reminded myself, she had seen, or heard for the most part, I supposed, a side of him that no one else had; the side of him that had been the angel of music. Therefore, although I was still sorting out my own mixture of anger and sympathy toward him, I could never resent her writing this letter to Erik. She needed to let him know how much him letting us go, giving us our chance at happiness, had meant to her. To show him that she did truly care.

"Let's go downstairs, shall we?" I asked, rising from my chair.

"Yes," she said, the twinkle returning to her eyes. "Just one more thing."

At that she kissed me, and I reached up to cup her cheek, kissing her back with fervor, feeling like electricity was flowing through my veins. We broke apart, breathless.

"May I ask what that was for, Madame? Not that I'm complaining." I grinned.

"I'd hoped it would give me the courage I needed to face this evening. It certainly helped." She brushed a stray hair from my face, and smoothed the lapels of my jacket.

"You'll do splendidly darling," I said, tucking her hand into the crook of my arm as we exited our bedroom and started making our way to the ballroom, the chatter of the guests already wafting upstairs. "I've absolutely no doubt. Don't let the ones who doubt bother you; you belong here, love. Now let them see it."

She smiled broadly, hand shaking slightly from nerves. "Let's go," she said, straightening up and holding her head high. "Just don't let me slip on the stairs."

An hour later found me surrounded by a small knot of men, some were friends of mine, Lucien included, and some were older nobles who had been friends of my father's. Phillipe's best friend Martin Dubois, a Baron, sat next to me. Christine had been swept away from me a half hour ago, and was talking with a group of women, and I was pleased to see Adelaide and Meg Giry among them. Still, I kept an eye out. A smile graced her features and she spoke easily, but I spotted one woman I knew to be quite the vulture standing in the small knot of people. A string quartet played in the background, and many attendees were dancing, while others, myself included, were sitting at one of the circular tables draped in golden cloths, each with a single flickering candle in the center.

"Where is Cosette, Raoul?" asked Martin. "I don't see her amongst the crowd."

"She is with her husband and children at our estate in the country," I answered, taking a sip of my glass of red wine. "She desired some fresh air, away from the city." I wanted to say that she wished for a peaceful place to grieve for Phillipe, but feared I should lose my composure if I mentioned my brother. Had it been just Martin and Lucien I would have been truthful, but I couldn't in front of all the others, some of whom were watching me like hawks.

"It's a nice time of year for that," answered Martin, running a hand through his dark brown hair. "And that estate is so expansive there's no possibility of boredom." I noticed a cheerful glint in his eye, and imagined he must be remembering the days he'd spent there with my family, riding horses, laughing with Phillipe by the fire and teasing me endlessly.

I chuckled, memories flooding my mind. "That is certainly true. I remember getting lost in the woods several times as a boy."

The conversation shifted to politics for a bit, and I surveryed the group, shifting uncomfortably when I noticed the Marquis Chevalier looking at me with narrowed eyes. He had been a great friend of my father's, but a few years before my father's death there had been a severe rift, of which my father wouldn't speak, and they were never as friendly again. I'd never particularly cared for him, thinking him rather haughty, and Phillipe had quite agreed, but we'd been forced to invite him to everything out of courtesy after our father died, also taking into account that he held quite a bit of sway. Aunt Claire had vaguely implied that the rift had occured when my father had refused to betrothe me to the Marquis' daughter, but she'd been tight lipped about the details.

"So Raoul," he said, after we reached a break in the conversation, "Any news of the rebuilding of the opera?"

A thick tension fell upon the table almost instantly, the happy chatter and music fading into the background. I clenched my hand under the table, willing myself to keep my temper.

"I haven't heard anything," I answered, hoping I'd been successful in plastering a fake smile on my face. "It's a bit soon yet, I would think."

"Sad," he said, sipping his brandy. "Such a beautiful opera, destroyed by such scandal. The papers were full of such dreadful things..." He leered at me, daring me to lose it in front of him. "And poor Phillipe, of course. What a tragedy."

"The papers," I said, almost shaking with anger at him for bringing all this up, but trying to remain calm. "Are full of nonsense."

I saw Lucien lean forward out of the corner of my eye, eyes narrowed at Chevalier.

"Tell us, Raoul," the Marquis said, swishing his brandy around in his glass in a nonchalant manner as if were discussing the weather.. "What did happen that night the opera burned? Or perhaps your lovely chorus girl turned diva can regale us? I heard she knew that phantom fellow...rather well." His implications made me burn with anger.

There was a sharp intake of breath from all around the table. I felt the blood rush from my face.

"Now see here Chevalier," Lucien cut in, so red in the face on my behalf that it nearly matched his hair.

I laid a hand on his arm, suddenly extremely calm. My voice came out colder and harsher than I had ever thought possible, a knife cutting into the tense air. "You should take care not to insult my wife, Chevalier," I said, standing up from my chair. "I'm afraid I must politely ask you to leave."

"You forget who I am, de Chagny," he said, rising from his own chair.

"No, I have no trouble with my memory, thank you," I said. "I will allow no one to insult Christine, especially not in my own house."

With that he ripped his jacket off of his chair and stomped out of the room, causing a few stares in our direction. Once he was gone, I turned to the rest of the group at my table.

"I apologize for the disruption, gentlemen," I said, trying to smile.

"You were quite right Raoul," answered my Uncle George, my father's and Aunt Claire's younger brother. "He was absolutely out of line. Foul man, that one's gotten to be."

"I wanted to punch him," grumbled Lucien. "Bastard."

There was a general murmur of assent around the table, which lifted my spirits.

"Agreed, my friend," I said, clapping him on the shoulder. "Well, if you would all excuse me, I think I'll go and dance with my wife."

On my way to ask Christine to dance, I was intercepted by Aunt Claire, who had been talking with Madame Giry. The pair, it seemed, were striking up a friendship.

"Is everything all right dear?" she asked, resting a hand on my shoulder. "You look a tad flushed."

"I had to ask Chevalier to leave," I answered, feeling my heart pounding in my chest. "He insulted Christine and was completely out of line."

Her eyes widened and she frowned. "You shall have to tell me the details later, then. For now, go and find Christine. She's doing quite well." She grinned, and ushered me to my beloved.

"Raoul!" exclaimed Christine, her tone light. "I thought you'd get stuck there for eternity."

"As did I," I replied. "Good evening ladies." I gave a slight bow, and all the lades curtseyed in return.

"This is a lovely party Raoul," said Gabrielle, Martin's wife. "Christine and Adelaide did a splendid job planning."

"Indeed they did," I said, smiling over at Christine and my sister.

"You should take Christine and dance," said Adelaide, smoothing a crease from her light blue ball gown. "Neither of you have gotten a chance all evening."

"I came to do just that,"I said, offering my hand to Christine, who took it gladly, and we glided onto the dance floor.

"Are you all right?" I asked as the sounds of a waltz blended into the air. "You seem to be holding your own."

"I've caught a few less than friendly glances sent my way, but Adelaide found us a lovely group to chat with," she said. "I felt one woman in particular was watching me like a hawk, however, now tha you mention it. And she stormed out a moment ago, with who I assumed was her husband. Grey hair, dark green dress, an inappropriate number of diamonds."

"That would be the Marquis Chevalier's wife. I had to ask him to leave unfortunately. He was prying about the opera, and you, and I felt it best he left." I moved in a tad closer, comforted by her mere presence.

"Some people have nothing better to do than be horrible, apparently," she said, shaking her head. "Spreading rumors and prying."

The music reached it's climax and I twirled Christine about, causing a tinkle of laughter to emerge from her lips.

"The rest of the night seems to be going well, thankfully. It truly is beautiful, love."

"Thank you," she said. "The decorators did a nice job setting up as well. Being the center of attention is rather nervewracking though." The dance ended and she linked her fingers through mine, pushing a stray curl behind her ear.

"It is," I agreed, as we made our way back over to the group Christine had been standing with earlier. "But you're doing wonderfully."

As we returned, I noticed Adelaide and Meg looked nervous; Meg was continiously moving up and down on the balls of her feet, and Adelaide was twirling her blonde hair, a sure sign she was uncomfortable.

"Christine!" one of the ladies chirped. "We were speaking while you were gone, and hoped you might honor us with a song!"

Some of the color left her cheeks, and she tensed beside me, her hand sweaty. My mind reeled, trying to figure out what to do, but I didn't want to jump into too quickly, wanting Christine to know she could choose whichever way she wanted, and I would support her. I watched the thoughts leap across her eyes in a matter of seconds. Then, I saw a determined gleam, and I knew what she would do.

"Of course," she said, squeezing my hand. "If you wish."

The ladies nodded excitedly, their gowns rustling as they went to inform the other attendees, leaving only Meg and Adelaide.

"Are you sure Christine?" Meg asked, resting a hand on her friend's shoulder.

"Yes, I think so," she said. "It's only singing here in my home, after all, at a party for friends and accquaintances. It's not the same as being on stage."

"You'll be lovely," said Adelaide. "Let me go tell the musicians." Meg followed her, making her way toward her mother, leaving Christine and I alone for a moment.

"Don't feel pressured," I said, searching her face.

"I don't" she said. "I promise. I want to do this. I was thinking of Juliet's Waltz; the musicians will probably know the notes to that."

"This is a big step," I whispered, kissing her forehead lightly. "You are truly remarkable. I saw that gleam in your eye and knew what you were going to say."

"I don't know when I'll sing on stage again, or if I will," she said, her voice soft as she looked into my eyes. "But I won't let myself forget how much I love to sing. I need to do this."

"I agree," I said, running a finger affectionately down her cheek. "Are you ready? I'll announce you."

She nodded, and once the musicians told us they knew her song choice, Adelaide tapped her glass of champagne, alerting everyone to our presence at the front of the room.

"Hello everyone," I said, a real smile slipping onto my face as I anticipated hearing Christine sing once more. "I want to thank you all for coming to celebrate our marriage, and for those of you who haven't, to meet my lovely Christine. Some of the ladies requested a song, and Christine has decided to grace us. She'll be singing Juliet's Waltz." I gestured Christine forward, giving her hand one more squeeze. "The floor is yours my dear."

She smiled at the crowd before nodding to the musicians. My heart pounded as the notes of the piano melted into the air. Christine's voice trembled slightly at first from understandable nerves, but once she reached the fifth line of the aria, she regained her confidence, her eyes meeting mine from where she stood, her angelic voice hitting each note with ease and emotion. I thought fleetingly that Erik would be proud of how she sounded. I caught Madame's eye from across the room, and she beamed with pride at her surrogate daughter. Christine's pure soprano rang out as she hit the final note, her expression free of the fear which had been ever present for months, and the room erupted into applause. She curtseyed and said thank you, before running into my arms and hugging me fiercely.

"I did it Raoul," she whispered in my ear, voice shaking. "I sang again. Oh, how delightful it was! I was singing to you, while I was up there. It gave me strength."

Happy tears threatned my eyes and I hugged her tighter. "It was astounding darling. There just aren't words."

We pulled back, hands resting on each other's arms. The party whirled around us, couples twirling around the dance floor, the women in brightly colored dresses, our guests' chatter creating a soft hum throughout the room. It all fell into the background for Christine and I, as a piece of our world fell back into place, another light breaking through.

"I'd nearly forgotten how much joy a simple song could bring me," she said softly, moving closer to me again. "And I think...that perhaps having the strength to do this might give me the strength to write that letter." She leaned her forehead against mine. "Thank you for encouraging me, my love. You remembered how much music meant to me when I hadn't the power to remember."

"I was just waiting for you to remember. Your father would have wanted you to remember. And you needed yourself to remember," I said, slipping an arm around her waist as we watched the party unfold in front of us, enjoying this moment of victory together, a victory over the demons of fear. Friends and family eventually surrounded us, and it sent warm feeling to my heart at seeing that the contented glow had not escaped her face. Everything would fall into place, piece by piece, just given enough time. And for now, loving each other was enough to get us through.


	8. Mail Call

Chapter 8: Mail Call

A/N: Sorry for the delay, everyone, I recently moved up to the Washington DC area to start graduate school, so it's been a VERY busy few weeks for me. Thanks so much for the reviews, and I hope you enjoy!

I sat at the breakfast table sipping my coffee, reading glasses perched on my nose as I perused the morning paper. Christine was upstairs putting the finishing touches to her toilette, claiming she simply couldn't tame her hair this morning. It had been a week since the party, and no harsh words had been delivered from the Marquis Chevalier, although I waited with baited breath each morning when the mail arrived. Other than that worry, it had been a pleasant week. Christine and I had been obligated to attend a few social engagements and had spent a day with the Giry's, touring the new Parisian theater where they had found employment. This theater had been particularly interested in obtaining Madame as the ballet mistress, for the Opera Populaire had long had the best corps de ballet in the city, and after seeing Meg dance, she was poised to be next in line as Prima Ballerina, as it was predicted the current one, due to age and an old leg injury, might not last more than another season. Christine and I reveled in our stolen hours together more than anything else, however; the laughter filled strolls through the Parisian streets, hands linked; kisses in the hallway with foosteps of one of the house staff approaching; eating meals together as husband and wife. We were buidling a life together, were were growing into our adult lives together, as we had grown as children.

"The mail, monseiur," came Jacques' voice as he walked past, placing the rather large stack next to my place setting.

I raised my eyebrows at the rather large pile.

"Your are quite popular this morning," grinned Jacques good naturedly.

"Well, that could either be good or bad, my friend," I said, opening the first without bothering to reach for the letter opener. It was from Cosette, and I smiled at the thought of my eldest sister.

The letter entreated for Christine and myself to journey to the family chateau in the country, the family stronghold for centuries, where Cosette and her famliy had been staying for a few weeks. I knew that Adelaide, her family, and Aunt Claire intended to make the trip there soon as well, so if Christine agreed, I thought it was a splendid idea. Adelaide, I knew, would be thrilled with Christine's company, and it was only right, for the family to spend some proper time together since the horror of losing Phillipe. I felt my stomach twist at the thought of my brother. It would also be good for Christine, I felt. She had adapted wonderfully to the new societal expectations, had learned everything so quickly, but she deserved a respite. Not to mention the fact that it had only been a mere four months or so since everything had happened at the opera, and the anniversary of her father's death was rapidly approaching.

The next document was a letter from my attorney concerning buisness matters about some of the family land holdings, along with one of the final documents settling Phillipe's affairs, which again saddened my mood. The third however, was a note from Lucien, informing me that he had also been invited to my family's country home, which sent a grin to my face. I had intended on asking him myself, but my sister had gotten to it first, knowing what fun he brought to any gathering. Two were from friends of Christine's from the opera. The following three were "condolence" letters for missing last week's party, each from families I'd heard through the grapevine highly dissaproved off my marriage, families who had turned up their noses when we saw them at other engagements. I tossed them each into the wastebin near the table, unopened. The last one had just landed inside when Christine came down the stairs, eyebrows raised.

"Tired of reading the mail?" she asked with a laugh as she sat down at the table, her hair pulled back in a ponytail at the back of her neck.

"Just those particular pieces," I answered, pouring her a cup of coffee. "They were letters of regret for not attending the party. Just people who have their noses so high up in the air they trip over their own feet."

Christine shook her head in a mixture of amusement and masked concern, taking a sip of her steaming beverage.

"There are two letters here for you from Jammes and Gabrielle. And there's one here from Cosette requesting us to come visit her at the chateau in the country." I slid the three letters over to her place. "Adelaide and her family are going as she told us, and Aunt Claire too, perhaps my Uncle George. Lucien says he'll make an appearance."

"It sounds nice," said Christine, smiling. "But can we leave Paris now?"

"I think we could leave in about two weeks. We've certainly attended enough social engagements lately, and two weeks should give us enough time to settle things here and make arrangments for travel. I was thinking we might stay about three or four weeks, then come home. What do you think?"

I think it sounds wonderful," she responded, looking refreshed at the very idea. "There's been so much going on lately..."

"We could use some peace," I agreed, reaching over to squeeze her hand, understanding that she wasn't just speaking of the wedding, honeymoon, and activity in Paris. "It's been a whirlwind."

She squeezed back, running her thumb over my knuckles before letting go. A silence fell between us as Maria brought out the breakfast croissants, the clink of our butter knives against the dishes pronounced. I met Christine's eyes across the table, noticing they looked dark with anxiety.

"Christine?" I prodded in a whisper.

"I finished the letter to Erik," she let out in a rush, her small ballerina's frame suddenly trembling.

I rose speedily from my chair, moving to kneel down next to hers, taking both of her small hands in my larger ones in an attempt to steady her.

"I don't know if...if it came across the right way," she said, voice low. "Would you...I know it's a lot to ask...would you read it over for me?"

"Yes," I said without hesitation, relieved at the fact that she trusted me to read the letter, but hating that the mention of it sent her into such a state. "It's not too much to ask. Not for you."

"I just know that you have terrible memories too," she said, closing her eyes and taking in a deep breath, her trembling ceasing. "And that you might not want to think of them anymore than you already do."

"I do have those memories, as you do." I agreed, trying to shove the images, like moving photographs, from my mind. "But we're in this together. And I also agreed that writing the letter was a good idea, that Erik should know that you...we...forgive him. And that you care about his well being, despite the ordeal."

She looked up at me, a weak smile of thanks gracing her ethereal features. "Thank you," she said. "Thank you."

A moment of silence came, before Christine broke it, her voice a whisper. "You've forgiven him?" she asked.

I sighed, rising from my knee and putting my hand out to pull Christine up from her chair. She took it, and I treasured how warm it felt, how secure.

"I'm trying," I answered honestly. "And someday, I truly, fully will. I have in part, but I need time, still. But holding a grudge forever only makes for bitter a man, and I don't wish to live like that. And he let me be with you, and for that, I can't be thankful enough."

She squeezed my hand in silent understanding, leaning closer to me as we walked toward our bedroom, breakfast quite forgotten.

"What about you?" I questioned, glancing over at her.

"I think..." she hesitated, voice trembling slightly. "I think I've forgiven him. I haven't forgotten...I won't ever forget. But he let me go with you, and in that moment of his compassion, I could start forgiving."

We reached the bedroom and she walked over to her vanity where the letter rested, its presence so strong it was almost as if Erik were there in the room with us, as if it breathed the air as much as we did. She handed it to me as I sat down in my chair near the bay window, Christine sitting on the edge of the bed. I unfolded the first page, my heart racing against my skin.

Dear Erik,

I'm writing to you in order to hopefully find any possible closure between us. Although I'm not entirely sure what to say, I just knew I had to do this. I'm writing to let you know, that despite all that happened, and that whatever you may think to the contrary, I do care about you. And I'm writing to thank you for giving me the chance to be free, the chance to marry Raoul. I know that a part of you most likely wants to rip this letter in half, out of anger, or the fear that it will hurt you more. But please, I ask you to keep reading.

I don't feel it necessary to expound upon the hurts that have happened between us; I believe those were given enough attention on that night in the lair, a night that I'm sure you, like me, don't like to think upon often, if it can be helped. Those are issues that we both have to confront and heal from in our own time, and I am truly sorry for the hurts I caused you. I won't deny that it has taken time for me to begin recovering from that night, but I am on the path, as I like to think you are.

I do hope this letter finds you well, and that you are somewhere safe. Madame told Raoul and me that you had given thought to leaving the country, and if you have, I hope you've found a place to your liking. I hope that you are able to make a living out of your music, because the world is a sadder place without your beautiful, unearthly compositions. I know humanity has been unspeakably cruel to you Erik, but please, if you are able, try to publish your music. The world might not deserve that, but you do.

I also wanted you to know that I will always care for you as my teacher, as someone who provided a fatherly protection when I had lost my own beloved father. I know it's not what you wish for, but I wanted you to know, even still, in the hopes that it might lend some comfort to you. There are all different kinds of love, after all, and I like to think that when you first began teaching me and talking to me, it wasn't out of a desire for romance but one to comfort a lonely young girl who had just lost her father. The affections of that girl still remain. You are not unloveable, Erik, as I'm sure Madame has told you before.

Raoul told me of your meeting in the garden of our home here in Paris, and your concern for me, and I wanted you to know that your sacrifice was not in vain. I am exceedingly happy here with Raoul, and I simply cannot thank you enough for seeing how much I loved him, and setting me free. I am adjusting well to this new life, and Raoul loves and protects me with all of his being. My soul, so long hidden in the pain and darkness of my father's death, is finally coming to life again. In the past, only singing could do that for me, but now I find a new life breathed into me. Recently, I was even able to sing at a small party Raoul and I hosted to celebrate our marriage. We are going to the de Chagny country estate soon, along with many members of Raoul's family, and I think the fresh air, away from the bustle of Paris, will be especially helpful.

I do desire that one day things will be right between us, even if I never see you again. Remember that I care about you, and remember that neither I or Raoul will ever forget the sacrifice you made that night. I thank you eternally for that compassion, and I know what it took for you to let us go free.

Thank you for being my teacher, and giving my voice it's wings.

Most Sincerely,

~Christine Daae de Chagny

I folded the letter back up, and looked at Christine, who was watching me intently. She had always been particularly talented at expressing her sentiments in writing, and this was no exception. She was a tad unsure of course, but who wouldn't be in this kind of situation? The best novelist had yet to come up with such a scenario. I felt warmed by the strength of her love for me, still almost unable to believe it, and silently thanked Erik for letting us go free. We had all been hurt, but this letter seemed a step forward.

"I think it's just right," I said, handing it back to her. "Do you feel better?"

"Yes," she said, placing it back on her vanity until she would give it to Madame Giry. "I feel...strangely lighter. A weight lifted, I imagine. I've never had writing a letter leave me so drained."

I rose, going to sit on the bed next to her, and she smiled, placing her hand over mine.

"I do think some time in the country will be good for us," I responded. "And we can even invite Meg and Madame to stay for a few days, if you like."

"I would," she said, eyes shining bright. I had missed that look in her eyes during those last weeks at the Opera. To be sure I hadn't seen such a light in her eyes since her father had passed away.

"It will give us time," I said, gently undoing the ribbon at the base of her neck, allowing the tresses to spill down her back and around her shoulders, "to be young again."

"Young again," she sighed, leaning her head on my shoulder as I twisted a brown curl around my finger. "How novel."

And in that moment, and hopefully in many moments to come, we weren't the young couple who had been caught up in "that horrid opera buisiness" as so many referred to it, the couple who deigned to marry outside of rigid class lines, the couple who had been hounded by the authorities and the press when all we wanted was to be left alone to recover from a night we could never forget. In that moment, I wasn't one of the youngest, most influential nobles in France, and she wasn't the renowed opera singer who had shot to stardom in Hannibal with her angelic voice. In that moment, we were just Raoul and Christine, the childhood friends turned lovers who had met by the sea.

AN: I hope you guys liked this chapter, and that I did an okay job with the letter. I re wrote it several times trying to get it right, so I hope it works!


	9. News, News, News

Her Savior

AN: Hello all...first I must apologize for the inexcusable amount of time since I last updated. Between grad school, family drama, and a death in the family, things have been a bit insane. But I assure, I would never abandon this story, and very much intend to finish it. It's expanded beyond what I originally intended, which is both exciting and challenging. In any case, if there are any readers and reviewers still out there, I hope you enjoy this chapter!

Chapter 9: News, News, News

I gazed out the window of the carriage, breathing in the new spring warmth and the scent of new flowers beginning to bloom. I twirled a stray curl that had fallen from my chignon with my finger, Madame Giry's voice jolting me out of my thoughts.

"What did you tell Raoul?" she asked as I turned back toward her. "Surely he asked where you were going?"

"I just told him I was having lunch with you," I answered with a slight smile. "He had some business to attend to today in any case, so he was a bit distracted. But I wanted to keep this a surprise, at least until I know for sure." I rested a hand on my stomach, feeling another wave of nausea coming on. "Thank you for coming along."

"Of course, dear," she answered, a rare twinkle in her grey eyes. "Meg only regrets that she couldn't come along, but there she couldn't miss rehearsal so soon after starting if she wants to keep her role as Prima Ballerina. She said she would come visit later this afternoon."

"I hope I'll be able to share good news with her," I replied. "I still can't quite believe it, although I suppose I shouldn't be too surprised. I've always wanted to be a mother. I do hope Raoul will be pleased, if I am with child."

Madame raised both of her eyebrows in response. "Christine, Raoul loves children…he's always said so. I'm sure he'll be thrilled. Why would you think otherwise?"

I shifted in my seat, feeling embarrassed at my insecurities, but spoke anyway. "It's just been a tumultuous few months with Erik and the opera and Phillipe's death and just being married a few months ago," I said, a warmth flooding my veins as I thought of the excited, almost reverent whisper Raoul had used whenever we discussed our future children. "I've always wanted to be a mother…I just hope I'm ready."

Madame patted my shoulder. "As soon as they put that pink cheeked child in your arms, you'll be ready," she said wisely. "Trust me."

We emerged from the physician's office, and I declared to Madame Giry that I was so full of excitement that I might burst at the seams.

"You'll feel like your bursting at the seams when you give birth to that child inside you," Madame remarked, shaking her head good-naturedly at my enthusiasm.

"Madame…" I grumbled, having tried hard not to think upon the pain of childbirth too deeply until the time came.

"I'm sorry dear," she replied, patting me on the shoulder. "Ever the realist. But I must say, it pleases me to see you so happy. It's refreshing. The color has returned to your cheeks these last few months."

"Raoul says the same thing," I answered. "But I don't think he will feel fully rested until we leave for the countryside next week. Sometimes I think his very soul is tired," she said, leading Madame Giry down the street to some lovely shops she often frequented with Meg. The carriage driver was set to meet them in around an hour.

Madame Giry sighed, mouth in a straight line. "The loss of his brother was terrible for him…it will be good for the both of you to spend some quality time with his family. On a related note," she stopped, looking strangely uncomfortable.

"What is it Madame?" I asked, stopping in my tracks in front of a jewelry shop to look her directly in the eye.

"I mailed off your letter to Erik," she began, her tone more stern than usual, indicating the seriousness of the subject at hand. "And received a letter in return that simply said 'letter received' and with no return address, which must mean he's changed locations again."

"Well I'm pleased he received it," I responded, feeling the small knot of anxiety, although not as prevalent as months past, clenching and twisting.

"I was unsure about the whole idea, but I think it was sensible…or as sensible as anything can be in this entire ordeal," Madame Giry responded. "He may answer you or he may not, my dear, so I caution you not to have any expectations. And keep your wits about you…Erik has made a change, but he is still unpredictable."

I nodded. "I don't know if I really expect an answer, although I'd like one, maybe for a sense of closure, if that's possible. I just wanted to put pen to paper to let him know how I felt, to know I still cared. I felt I had to try, even if it didn't make a difference in the end." I frowned slightly, wondering for a moment if Erik would indeed respond, and if my words had caused any relief. I felt so sad for him, and yet a part of me was still terrified of him as well. Neither of those facts, I thought, would change anytime soon. "It's just so complicated," I sighed, frustrated.

"You did a good thing in writing the letter, I think," Madame Giry said, squeezing my shoulder. "It's more than what most people who experienced what you did would have done. But you mustn't forget to cherish your own happiness…you deserve it."

I nodded, flashes of the letter going through my mind, but a smile overtaking me as I thought of telling Raoul about the baby.

In an attempt to divert me to the wonderful news of the baby, Madame took my elbow and led me into a shop down the way, which was well known for its infant clothes and other accessories.

"I haven't even told Raoul or Meg yet," I protested, but still couldn't help but grin. "Isn't it a bit too soon to shop?

"Nonsense," Madame said as we entered the door and were greeted jovially by the shopkeeper who was helping a lady looking about 4 months along. "It's never too early. Babies need more things than you even realize."

We browsed for several minutes; Madame took in the selection of clothes, while I looked at the cradles, relishing the thought of telling Raoul the news when he arrived home, telling him that we had created a blessed new life together, a symbol of our love to cherish forever. I was suddenly struck by the thought that, praying to God nothing happened to Raoul or me, our child would get to experience something neither of us had; a double parent household. Raoul's mother had died days after his birth, and mine when I was barely 4. Raoul's father had died when he was 11, and mine when I was 14. We both lost our mothers young, and grew up with widowers who dearly missed their wives and never remarried. This was something Raoul and I both craved, I knew, this desire to have our child be lucky enough to have both of us in his life until far into his or her adulthood. I was distracted from my musings by a shelf of St. Nicholas Medals near the front. The shop keeper, noticing my interest, came over.

"St. Nicholas is the patron saint of children," he said, smiling at me. "Do you have a little one?

"On the way," I said, resting my hand on my stomach.

"Some women buy these for their children," he continued, "but some buy them as a hint, a sort of way of telling their husbands they're with child."

"That's a wonderful idea," I answered, picking one up and handing it to him. "Raoul would appreciate that. Do you have something you could wrap it up in?"

"Absolutely Madame," he responded. "Glad I could be of assistance."

Two hours later Madame had returned home to tell Meg the news while I went home to Raoul, who had intimated that he would return around the same hour. I found him sitting in one of the parlor couches, penning a letter. I moved around the chair, kissing the side of his head in greeting, and he jumped in surprise.

"Hello love," he said, gesturing for me to sit down next to him. "Did you have a good time with Madame?"

"I did," I answered. "How was your business meeting?"

"Long," he said with a small chuckle. "Just taking care of some land that's been sold, there was some kind of delay with the deed and other nonsense. I often wonder how Phillipe took care of all the family business without a complaint."

"I'm sure it took time for him to grow used to it," I said, running a hand affectionately through my husband's hair, watching as his eyes closed briefly. "It's a burden. And I wish you didn't have to bear it."

Raoul smiled at me, taking one hand and lacing his fingers through my own. "I'll be fine. It's just a matter of getting used to it. My Uncle George has been a great help."

With my free hand, I pulled the small box out of the bag that sat beside me. "I have something for you."

"Really?" asked Raoul, his curiosity piqued, a half grin sliding onto his features. His expression reminded me of one he had often worn during their childhood, and loved the idea that although we were now adults, he never lost his boyish playfulness entirely.

"Really," I responded, opening the box and revealing the St. Nicholas medal.

Raoul's face scrunched in momentary confusion. "A St. Nicholas medal?" he questioned. "He's…"

I watched his eyes widen as his words trailed off, the pieces of the puzzle coming together behind them.

"He's the patron saint of children," Raoul finished, finally able to gather his words. "Christine, you're with child!" he exclaimed.

"I am," I responded, feeling warmth spread through my veins at the fact that this baby was a living being created by the love I shared with Raoul. It was a true and complete miracle.

Before I quite knew what was happening, Raoul had picked me up in his arms and was spinning me around in circles.

"Raoul!" I nearly squealed, laughing uproariously. "I take it you're happy, then?" I asked, as he set me back down.

"Of course," he said, a magnificent light bouncing into his eyes, one that hadn't been fully present for some time because of all the stress that had lately fallen upon us. "Why wouldn't I be?"

I didn't answer for a moment, feeling a bit silly, but pressed on. "I was just concerned that with everything that's been going on, with all the big life changes, that this might just be something else to worry over."

"Christine," he said, running a gentle finger down my cheek. "I could never be anything but thrilled we're having a child. I desire nothing more. I just want to make sure that you stay in good health through the pregnancy…I couldn't bear to lose you."

"You won't," I said, adamant in reassuring him as he always did me.

He pulled me close, as though afraid he would lose me that very moment, and then he was kissing me fervently, my hands entwining themselves in his now shorter hair. We broke apart, breathless, and I rested my head on his chest, reveling in the moment. I felt absolutely, utterly safe, and it was a feeling I had sorely missed.

A few days later we had arrived at the de Chagny chateau, and aside from our trip to Italy, I swore that I had never seen anything so beautiful. The home and grounds were so massive that I feared I might get lost within them. All of Raoul's family that I knew well was already here, and some members that I had only met at the wedding were due to arrive in a few days, along with Lucien, Meg, and Madame Giry. We were sitting out on the back patio with Aunt Claire, Adelaide, and Cossette, enjoying an evening glass of wine and the lovely early summer weather.

"Christine, I am thrilled beyond words that you're having a baby!" exclaimed Adelaide, her usual chipper self. "What are you to name it?"

"Phillipe if it's a boy," I said, glancing over at Raoul. "And Amorette or Bernadette if it's a girl."

"It's just such a wonderful occurrence after everything that's happened," Aunt Claire remarked, gazing upon the pair with maternal warmth. "New life never ceases to be a happy occasion."

"Agreed," said Raoul, taking a sip of his wine. I knew being back in this place where he had spent so much of his childhood reminded him of his brother, so talking of the baby was a welcome topic. We had come here to finally enjoy being a young married couple, and were both determined to do so.

"You're such a natural with children Raoul," said Cossette. "My children practically tackled you when you came in the door."

"I spoil them I'm afraid," he said with a laugh. "I'll have to work on that for when our little one comes along."

"Ha," said Adelaide, a teasing grin on her face. "You're soft, brother. You'll spoil all the children you have."

The two broke into a friendly argumentative banter, which was interrupted by Raoul's Uncle George coming out onto the patio, a rather grim expression on his face and a single sheet of paper in his hand.

"What's wrong George?" Aunt Claire asked, hand gripping her wine glass a little more tightly than before.

I felt the familiar twisting in my stomach, hoping, praying that nothing else had gone wrong. Not now.

"I'm afraid the police dropped this off," he said, handing the sheet of paper to Raoul. "They're reopening Phillipe's case…and you're a person of interest, Raoul."

My wine glass dropped to the ground, glass shattering on the concrete, red liquid dripping from the edges.

AN: Bet you weren't expecting that, eh? Or maybe you were. Sorry for the shortness of this chapter, I just wanted to get back on track. I know there was lots of fluff in this chapter, but I just couldn't help myself.


	10. A Person of Interest

Her Savior

Chapter 10: A Person of Interest

Christine's POV

I sat beside Raoul in the front parlor the next day, the first time we'd really been alone since receiving the news about him being a so called "person of interest" in the suddenly reopened case of Phillipe's death. When we'd gone to bed last night we'd both fallen asleep almost instantly, and hadn't talked about anything, mostly because I knew Raoul was tired of talking. All of yesterday had been consumed with his family, and now mine I supposed, debating back and forth and wondering what the authorities could possibly be thinking, and why all of this had been brought to the surface once more. The quiet that had fallen upon the house today was one of utter terror for what might happen, for what the future held when everything had looked so promising a mere 24 hours ago. Raoul was resting his chin in one hand and staring out the window, looking lost.

"Raoul?" I questioned.

Hmm?" he said, sitting up and looking at me almost as though he'd quite forgotten I was there.

"Are you…" I started, stopping myself in the middle of my sentence. I knew he wasn't okay, so there was no point in asking. "Do you want to talk about it?"

He smiled slightly at my concern, which lifted my spirits.

"I don't know what there is to say really," he said, leaning his head back against the couch, looking exhausted. He hadn't slept, I knew; he'd tossed and turned all night. "I can't imagine why this is happening...it's so bizarre that I feel almost numb to it. Not that I think that will last." His blue eyes clouded over with a sort of unrestrained fear I'd never seen there before.

"Will they…arrest you?" I asked tentatively, the thought having been dancing around in my head for hours, taunting me. I had heard horror stories of French prisons, and didn't like to picture of Raoul inside one.

Raoul shook his head. "They wouldn't dare arrest someone with my family name until they had solid proof, especially not the Comte, although it still sounds strange to refer to myself as that," he said. "Until then, though, they could put me under house arrest. That's usually the course of things."

He ran frustrated hands through his hair, looking older than I'd ever seen him as he tried to keep his composure. For the police to accuse him of murdering his brother, the brother that had been like a second father to him, was tearing him up inside, though I could see he was trying to hide it for my sake and his family's.

"I don't know what they could possibly be thinking," I said, moving closer to him and resting a comforting hand on his leg. "I just don't understand. This case has been closed for a few months now. And to accuse you, of all people."

Raoul sighed, looking over at me and resting his hand on top of mine.

"There was talk amongst some," he began, hesitating a bit, "that Phillipe and I were fighting over you."

"What?" I exclaimed, a little more loudly than intended, my voice echoing off the walls of the expansive room. "How could they think… that doesn't even make sense."

"People talk," he said. "And sometimes that talk can be powerful. Uncle George pondered the idea that perhaps someone was trying to frame me as a power play."

"They would do that?" I questioned, still amazed at the lengths some members of the nobility would go to in order to gain power and position.

"It's been done before," he said. "Old grudges run deep. But Uncle George and I are going to meet with the chief here in town, who reports directly to the Prefect of Police in Paris to try and clear my name, and Lucien is going to meet us there since he was present the night of the opera. I was hoping you would come along as well, since they'll likely want your testimony. But we can't go back to Paris yet, because the papers state that I have to stay in the Avallon area for now. "

Silence fell between us again, and I desperately searched for words that would comfort him, but found that most anything would sound empty in light of this.

"I love you, you know," I said, meeting his eyes, needing him to know it was true.

"I love you too," he said, brushing his hand lightly against my cheek. "Do you mind if I go for a ride? It usually helps clear my head. I'd ask you to accompany me, but with the baby, I didn't know if…"

"I don't think anything would happen," I finished for him. "But I don't want to take the risk. Go have a ride. I saw a little nature trail outside the back garden I wanted to explore anyway." I brushed a stray hair from his face, putting in in place behind his ear, my hand coming to rest on the side of his face. He closed his eyes, leaning into my touch for a moment.

"I'll be back in a little over an hour. Try not to worry, it isn't good for you," he said kissing me briefly before exiting the parlor.

I went to our suite of rooms for my shawl and ventured outside, loving the peace of the country. Paris was exciting of course, but I had a soft spot for the quiet of the countryside, and now for the serenity of the de Chagny chateau and its grounds. I didn't think I'd ever seen anything so magnificent in all of France, save the seaside in Perros. I found the trail, which was dotted with lilies and irises, the specks of purple and white standing out beautifully against the fresh green grass. I walked along, feeling the full gravity of what was happening strike me, my stomach twisting into that ever familiar knot that this time had nothing to do with Erik. Meg and Madame Giry had changed their train tickets in order to start their journey earlier, just in case their testimonies would help clear Raoul's name.

I spotted a large shade tree a few steps away, and sat down with my back against it, resting my hand on my stomach where I knew my child was growing inside me. In a few weeks I would begin to show, and I hoped that all of this would be behind us so that Raoul and I could, as he said, "be young again." The simple memory of his words and the moment between us drew tears from within me, and I couldn't fathom how our lives had once again been turned upside down. I sat for what must have been three quarters of an hour at least, and eventually allowed the tears of worry I'd been holding in fall, silently praying, begging God to not take Raoul from me. Not now, not after everything we'd been through, after we had finally gotten a chance to live, to start our lives together…to be happy. My eyes were closed, and I didn't hear anyone walk up, so the words I heard next startled me.

"Why are you crying?" a deep, melodic voice asked me, a voice that sounded strangely beautiful even when simply speaking, a voice I would know anywhere. Goosebumps popped up on my arms, causing a chill to run over my entire person.

I opened my eyes, hardly daring to believe who stood in front of me, cape billowing in the breeze, the afternoon sun glinting off the stark white mask, ever put perfectly in place, black fedora pulled down low. Flashes of the night in the lair momentarily overtook me, his utterly broken expression, his normally perfect clothing in complete disrepair, his shouts compelling us to leave him and escape the mob. My heart thudded in my chest, and thought I felt the urge to run, I seemed frozen in place.

"Erik?" I asked, because I could find no other response, my entire vocabulary seeming to have left me. I stood up, backing away. "What are you doing here?"

"Forgotten what I look like so quickly, have you? he asked, voice laced with a smidge of sarcasm. He stepped forward. "I'm not here to kidnap you, so don't look so frightened. I don't go back on my word."

"How did you…"

"You should know me well enough to know that I have my ways," he responded, his eyes looking as though they could pierce through to my soul and read what was written upon it. "I received your letter and wanted to speak to you in person. Closure, I believe you called it. But you still haven't answered my question. Why are you crying?"

I gazed at him, both terrified and oddly comforted, my breaths shallow as though an anxiety attack was about to overcome me. I remembered my first days at the opera when I was fourteen, lonely, and broken hearted over the death of my father, and a voice would speak to me in the night, soothing me.

"The police have reopened Philiipe's case," I said, feeling the tears well up in my eyes again at the mere thought of the look of absolute shock on Raoul's face when his Uncle George had handed him the paper. "They're investigating Raoul as a suspect. He's terribly upset, and I…I don't know what's going to happen."

A look of what was perhaps guilt flooded his eyes for a moment, but was quickly replaced with a steely glint of an emotion I couldn't quite identify.

"I imagine he hasn't been arrested," he remarked, now resolutely not looking directly at me. "Or you wouldn't be taking a leisurely walk in the garden."

"No," I said, shaking my head. "He's out for a ride. But he thinks they might put him under house arrest soon. I just…I…" I broke off, my voice dying mid-sentence.

"And you're with child," he observed.

I didn't bother asking how he could possibly know that, unless he'd spoken to Madame Giry and she'd somehow let it slip, so I just nodded, wrapping my arms around myself as my whole body started shaking. Sobs erupted from me, my vision obscured by water. Before I quite knew what was happening, I felt stiff arms embracing me, arms that clearly weren't used to embracing anyone. It took me a moment to comprehend that it was indeed Erik's arms around me, but I responded by hugging him in return, crying even harder. I'd never imagined it would be Erik comforting me about Raoul's situation while standing within the de Chagny grounds, but it was welcome.

"I'm not especially good at comfort," he said gruffly, shifting away slightly. "But I think someone is trying to frame the boy."

"His name is Raoul," I responded as we broke apart, strangely unafraid to shoot him a glare.

"I'm aware," he said, smoothing the creases from his sleeves. "Has the Vicomte…oh excuse me, the _Comte_, offended anyone lately? Made them angry?"

"The Marquis Chevalier," I said, remembering the party several weeks ago. "He insulted me and was asking questions about what," I paused, careful of my words. "About what happened the night of Don Juan. Raoul shouted at him and made him leave the party in front of everyone. There was some sort of trivial grudge between Raoul's father and the Marquis, but I don't think…"

"You think too highly of people, Christine," he said, tone a bit harsh. He took my wrist, his touch oddly gentle. "You must tell me the details."

Before I could respond however, the sound of horse hooves approaching cut me off. I knew it was Raoul before I even turned around, and I instantly feared that in his unusually fragile state he would misinterpret the situation entirely.

"There you are Christine," he said, jumping off his horse and quickly coming to my side. He furrowed his eyebrows, shooting a perplexed, irate look at Erik. "What are _you_ doing here?"

"I'd come to speak to Christine about the letter she sent me," Erik said, eyes narrowing almost out of reflex. "A letter I believe you knew about, so don't act so surprised. I've heard you've gotten yourself into a bit of legal trouble…"

"Don't," Raoul said, cutting him off, voice sounding frayed. "Just don't. Please leave, we've got enough trouble going on here as it is."

"Raoul," I said, putting a hand on his shoulder. "I think Erik wants to help, he thinks that maybe the Marquis Chevalier is trying to frame you."

"Chevalier may indeed be doing that," Raoul responded, eyes landing on Erik, "but we don't need his help. Please Christine, let's just go home. If you still want to speak with him later we can try to arrange it…but right now there's too much going on."

Erik raised his eyebrows, a familiar anger entering his voice. "Stubborn, aren't you boy? I thought you'd forgiven me."

Raoul stepped forward, slipping out of my grasp. "I'm getting there," he said, his ire obvious, but his hands were shaking like mad. "But forgiving you doesn't mean forgetting your tricks. You're the reason this is all happening in the first place! You and your damned trap that killed my brother! How could I possibly believe you want to help me?"

I grabbed Raoul's hand and he turned to face me. He looked unhinged, his hair mussed, his eyes red from the tears he'd been trying to hide from everyone since yesterday.

"I know this is hard, but I really think he wants to help," I said, hardly knowing how to negotiate between the two of them. "We need to do whatever we can to get your name cleared, accept any help that comes to us."

"Or maybe you'd like to go to prison?" Erik questioned, taking two steps in Raoul's direction. "Or perhaps you're not very attached to your head? I've heard the guillotine can take care of that rather quickly."

Raoul made to lunge forward, but I seized the back of his coat, pulling him back with a strength only adrenaline could provide. Erik might have experienced a change, but I didn't trust the situation enough to allow Raoul to have at him, memories of how quickly the rope had gone around him in the lair flashing through my mind. He didn't attempt to free himself from my grasp.

"How could you say such a thing Erik?" I exclaimed, spinning around to face my teacher. "That isn't helping! At least have the decency to keep your cutting remarks to yourself!"

"I'm just pointing out how idiotic your husband is being," Erik responded, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Let's go Christine. Please," Raoul whispered, his tone phrasing it as a question, desperation replacing the fight in him. He was allowing me to see how much this had broken him, in front of Erik no less, and I knew I needed to get him home.

I nodded, taking his hand and looking over to Erik. "Thank you for coming to respond to my letter," I said with sincerity, hoping he knew I meant it. "But we have to go." I offered a shaky smile, his expression remaining stoic.

Raoul wordlessly helped me onto the horse, but by the time I turned around to look behind me, Erik had already disappeared.

"Are you alright?" Raoul asked after five minutes of silence as we approached the stables, a familiar warmth flooding back into his tone. "I'm sorry if I was short with you, I just wasn't expecting…"

"Yes, I'm fine," I answered, spying one of the stable hands coming to take the stallion. "I was startled at first, but I'm fine. I don't think Erik had any intention but to speak to me about the letter."

He offered his hand to help me down from the horse, but as soon as my feet hit the ground, before he could respond, the sound of footsteps caused both of us to turn around. An older police officer was walking toward us, Raoul's hand squeezing mine tightly. From the look on Raoul's face I could tell he recognized the man, whom he'd likely known in his childhood.

"Monsieur Dupont," Raoul said, trying to keep the worry out of his voice. "Don't take this the wrong way, but I don't think I should be pleased to see you."

Dupont shook his head, voice grave as he reached for a piece of paper in his coat pocket, which had the official seal of the Prefecture of Police. "I'm afraid you're right, Raoul. The chief was just informed by Paris that you're to be put under house arrest immediately. A few officers will be patrolling here, and you are to remain in the chateau at all times."

"How can you do this?" I asked, voice rising as my emotion got the better of me. "You have to know he's done nothing wrong!"

"I know he hasn't Comtess, but I'm under orders," he said, looking heartily sorry. "I thought it would be better coming from me than from another officer."

Raoul scanned the paper before looking back up at Dupont, controlled fury in his tone. "Is there anything else? Any word on what's going on? I was supposed to go down to the station tomorrow to give my story. I have rights, and I'd like them acknowledged. And I'd like to know why the case has suddenly been reopened without notification."

"The chief here and the Prefect himself will be coming in six days to question you and hopefully clear this up," he replied. "But until then I'm afraid you must stay inside the chateau at all times. Starting now."

A/N: I'm not entirely sure how well this chapter came across, but I hope it works. More about why Erik is willing to help with this situation will be made clear in the next chapter. I also hope everyone seems in character here…Raoul isn't quite his normal self obviously, because of what he's going through, so hopefully everything makes sense. Please read and review!


	11. Fights and Flights

Her Savior

Chapter 11: Fights and Flights

Raoul's POV

I felt frustration coursing through my veins like adrenaline as I sat through the end of my interview with the Prefect of Police Jean-Claude Ducoux and the local Inspector Henri Carlier. We'd been speaking in the parlor for two hours, and I'd been forced to stay inside the chateau for nearly six days. I steadied myself, feeling Christine's hand resting on top of mine as she sat to the right of me. Lucien sat on my left, as he'd also been present at the Opera that night and had been asked in to give his account. The rest of my family had been ordered to wait upstairs, save my Uncle George, who was watching over the proceedings. Prefect Ducoux appeared exceedingly unsympathetic, almost suspicious, while Inspector Carlier looked quite unconvinced that I should even be considered in the investigation, his eyebrows furrowed at the Prefect for almost the entire interrogation.

"Monsieur le Comte, when did you first hear of your brother's death?" Ducoux asked, pen poised over his notebook, which was already full of his illegible scrawl.

"Two days after the Opera burnt down," I answered, confidence in my tone so they would know I didn't fear them, even if I did fear the consequences of them finding me guilty. "Phillipe hadn't returned home from the opera, so I alerted the police, who told me they could not start an official missing person's investigation until he'd been missing for more than 48 hours. Just two days later upon inspection of the bowels of the opera they found he'd been drowned in one of the lake traps, one I'd fallen prey to myself."

"So you say," Ducoux remarked, pointedly avoiding eye contact with me.

"So he means," Christine cut in, the anger in her voice matching the levels it had that night in Erik's lair when he had first presented her with her choice; my life or her freedom. The meek girl she had been was extinguished that night, and she was slowly transforming into the no nonsense woman who sat beside me. "There was no feud going on between Raoul and Phillipe over me. Phillipe was like an older brother to me as a child."

"Please Miss Daae, do not interrupt me," Ducoux said, eyeing her with mild annoyance, sounding as if he was bored.

"She is the Comtess de Chagny Monsieur Prefect," I added, doing my best to keep my voice even, squeezing my wife's hand. "Please refer to her as such."

"Fine, fine Monsieur le Comte," he brushed me off, turning back to his notes. "And you left the opera after finding Miss…the Comtess, correct?"

"The opera was burning down Ducoux," Inspector Carlier said, obviously tired of Ducoux repeating the same questions by twisting the words around over and over again. "Of course they left. Barely made it out, according to the reports of your own officers. Both of them had to see a doctor."

"And the fire was started by this unknown man, this Phantom of the Opera?" Ducoux continued, ignoring his subordinate.

"With all due respect, I think all you need to know about the incident at the Opera Populaire can be found in the reports and testimonies from your own department, as the Inspector said," I responded. I refused to give him the details about our confrontation with Erik.

"So you had an altercation with this…Phantom, and then fled?" he asked.

"Yes," I answered, growing less even tempered by the second.

"And do you happen to know what happened to him?" Ducoux asked, staring me down.

"He released us," I said, feeling a slow tremble staring to overtake me as the memories of that night swept through my mind, as the idea that I was suspected of murdering my beloved older brother sank in deeper, into every fiber of my being. "I have no idea what happened to the Phantom," I lied. "He's most likely dead."

Before either policeman could respond, Lucien spoke up, and I could feel the tension emanating from him.

"It's ridiculous that you could even suspect Raoul in the first place," he began. "It's also insane that you're opening up a case that closed five months ago, a case that was deemed an accidental death."

"Yet you said yourself the deceased followed the Comte down into the cellars," Ducoux pointed out, eyes flickering over to Lucien.

"Because he was worried for his brother's life!" Lucien all but shouted. "Phillipe didn't even begin his journey into the cellars until 15 or 20 minutes after Raoul had gone down! Raoul didn't even know his brother had come after him until I informed him."

"Yes, so you've said," Ducoux said, barely acknowledging Lucien's words, his eyes roving back over to me. "And you went to the cellars while the opera was on _fire_…to rescue your wife from this _Phantom_?" The ghost of a smirk appeared on his countenance. "Seems a bit brash doesn't it? Not just trying to cover for her, are you? So she wouldn't be scandalized by her relationship with a known madman, a relationship your brother might have discovered…"

I made to stand, adrenaline pumping through my veins, fury flooding through every inch of me like wildfire, but Lucien seized me and pulled me back. I looked to Christine whose eyes were wide with shock, tears beginning to swim within the dark blue orbs.

"I think we're done here, Monsieur Prefect, Inspector Carlier," Uncle George said, cutting him off completely in a tone that left no room for argument. No matter the charges levied against me, the de Chagny name held some sway, especially coming from my uncle, my father's younger brother who was a retired and decorated admiral in the navy.

"What's to be done?" I asked, watching as both men complied and put away their note taking materials. "How much longer am I to be under house arrest? And I'd like to know what prompted the reopening of this investigation."

"All will be told in time," Ducoux answered, standing up and picking up his bag.

"I have a right as a French citizen and the head of this family to know why my brother's case has been reopened! And you will be careful not to insult my wife again."

"It will all be settled in time Raoul," Carlier said, dispensing with the formalities for a moment. "But for now the house arrest remains in effect. Take care."

Inspector Carlier tipped his hat to us as walked out, but Ducoux made no such gesture, acting as though he had been given license to treat everyone as though we were no better than the scum on the bottom of his highly shined shoes. The only sounds cutting through the sick silence that fell after the door closed was the noise from above, as Adelaide, Cossette, and Aunt Claire came down from the nursery to join the four of us.

"What happened?" questioned Adelaide the moment she reached the bottom of the stairs, golden hair coming loose from its elegant updo. "What did the officers say?" She was jittery from nerves, I could tell, words coming forth from her mouth in a rush, blue eyes widened.

"Give them a moment to catch their breath, Adelaide dear," Aunt Claire cautioned, looking weary.

I suddenly felt claustrophobic with all the people in the room desiring answers, desiring to know what the next step was when I was all but in the dark about the investigation, my fate, all of it. I plastered a confident expression on my face, hoping it would fool my family, for I so wanted them to feel secure, so wanted them to not have lose any more sleep than they already had.

"There's nothing new," I said, noting that they all surveyed me with worried expressions. "I must stay under house arrest until further notice. But I'm sure it will be all cleared up soon. They've got the testimonies they wanted and must know there's no evidence to support the charges. It's just…" I found it difficult to remember what I was saying second to second, the whole affair starting to take its toll on my mind, the buried feelings of guilt I felt about Phillipe's death rising to the surface.

My eyes looked over to Christine who looked more and more distressed by the moment, something that wasn't good for her or the unborn child she carried. I reached for her hand as my Uncle George spoke.

"I'm checking in with my police contacts in Paris Raoul," he said, eyebrows furrowed. "This whole thing is suspicious, especially after the incident with Chevalier a few weeks ago."

I nodded. "I agree. I think looking into that is the best we can do at this point, at least until they allow me to leave this chateau. I feel rather useless." It was true. I wanted so much to investigate, to talk to the police to find out what was going on, to perhaps see if Chevalier was behind it, but all I could do was sit and wait, unable to even send post of my own.

"Raoul," Cossette said, coming toward me and placing a hand on my shoulder, ever feeling the need to comfort me as any elder sister would. "Don't say that. You can't help what's happening."

"I just need some rest," I said, grasping her hand for a moment, and then turning to Christine. "You need to rest too, love. Are you all right? I'm sorry he kept insulting you. The nerve…"

"I didn't pay him any mind," Christine said, leaning in to give me a swift kiss on the lips. "Go rest, I'll see you in a bit."

At her words I went up the stairs, feeling Aunt Claire's hand touch my back as I passed, intending to make my way toward mine and Christine's suite of rooms, but stopped outside a familiar door, heart racing slightly. I dared to open the door to Phillipe's study, finding it unlocked. Upon stepping inside I found that nothing had been touched since he'd died, nothing out of place down to the half-full ink well resting in the center. Phillipe had spent several weeks here shortly after I took my place as patron at the opera, saying the fresh country air would do him some good before confronting the busy winter social season in Paris. I sat down in his chair, noting that the room still smelled of his favorite pipe tobacco, my mind floating back to a not so distant memory.

_"Phillipe!" I exclaimed, wrenching open the door to my brother's study, seeing his eyebrows shoot up in surprise. _

_ "Raoul!" he said, face lighting up. "Early aren't you? I wasn't expecting…"_

_ "Thought I'd surprise you," I said, cutting him off in my excitement. Before I quite knew what was happening his arms were around me in a firm embrace of greeting which I returned wholeheartedly._

_ "Come, sit," he said, gesturing to the chair across from him, a distinct twinkle of pride in his green eyes that looked just like our father's. _

_"It's so good to have you home," Phillipe said, running a finger over his blonde mustache, a wide grin playing at his lips. "Your weeks of leave weren't quite enough for my taste."_

_ "It's good to be home," I answered, leaning back in the leather chair, cracked from use but fitting almost perfectly to my form from all the times I'd sat upon it. "Nice to be standing on firm ground rather than a rocking ship. And to see you of course. I might have missed the nagging of my older brother every once in a while." I smiled playfully, fully aware that Phillipe knew how much I'd missed them all during my time in the navy. _

_ "An impertinent lad as always, even if you have been all over the world," he gently teased. "Some things never change. Adelaide and Cossette are set to arrive Thursday, so I'm afraid you're stuck with just me for a few days."_

_ "What a bother," I said sarcastically, propping my boots on the edge of his desk, watching as he predictably shook his head, trying to sound stern._

_ "Get your feet off my desk boy," he said, affection in his tone as he nudged my feet off. "You have the finest manners of any man your age in all of France, yet you seem to quite forget them when in my presence." He rolled his eyes in gest at my efforts to irritate him. "Now I've arranged for us to spend the month here doing nothing but riding and lazing about on the portico. Sound appealing?"_

_ "Very much so," I answered, sitting up straight again. "I'd like nothing better. I made some fine friends aboard the Borda, but none of them could quite measure up to you." I met his gaze, hoping he knew just how sincere I was. There wasn't a better brother in all the world. _

_ "I'm proud of you Raoul," he said, a sort of fatherly glow emanating from him. "You follow in our ancestors' footsteps and bring honor to our family name. Father would be proud. And mother as well. You do remind me of her."_

_ I felt struck by the same strange sadness I'd felt all my life when my mother's name was brought up. I had her eyes I was often told, as well as several key facets of her personality. My father had always been overprotective of me, as though he feared what had killed my mother in childbirth would somehow transfer to me. My siblings had often intimated to me that Father was much less talkative after Mother died, like a piece of him had gone with her. Phillipe suddenly had the expression that something had dawned on him as he looked at me._

_ "Oh!" he said. "That reminds me. I've decided that our family is to become the new patron of the Opera Populaire in Paris. They are under new management, and I know how much you enjoy the arts, music especially. I thought you might like to take up that duty."_

_ "The Opera Populaire?" I questioned. "That's where Christine Daae went to live after her father died. I do wonder if she's still there."_

_ "Christine Daae?" Phillipe said, looking intensely interested. "Your friend from Perros? Whose father taught you to play the violin? You haven't seen her since you were 14, Raoul."_

_ "I know," I answered, thoughts of the girl with the chocolate curls, dancing blue eyes, and the heart of an angel intoxicating me for a moment. "But that summer her father died she went to live at the Opera Populaire under the care of the ballet instructor Madame Giry, who was an old friend of her father's." I stopped for a moment, a flash of her sad smile as her carriage had driven away forefront in my thoughts. "I think I fell in love with her when I first saw her red scarf floating out to sea," I mused, remembering how the ocean breeze had pulled curls loose from the bright yellow ribbon she used to tie them back, how tears fell like diamonds from her eyes at the thought of losing her beloved scarf, one of the few remaining articles that had belonged to her mother._

_ Phillipe tilted his head, raising one eyebrow at me. "You were nine, Raoul. Can one fall in love so young?"_

_ "I don't know," I said, feeling an odd warmth spreading throughout my body. "I think maybe so."_

_ Phillipe was quiet as he surveyed me, a small smile on his face. _

_ "You are ever the romantic little brother," he said as he rose from his chair. "What do you say to a brandy?"_

_ "I'd say I'd love one," I responded. "I do know one thing however."_

_ "What's that?" he asked, curious._

_ "I'm quite sure I'm now a better shot than you are."_

_ In response to my cheeky remark Phillipe ruffled my hair as we exited the study, a habit that had been a trademark of my childhood. _

_ "Phillipe!" I protested, unable to stop myself from laughing. "I'm not a child."_

_ "You're 20," Phillipe argued, very much amused. "Just because you've seen battle and been to all sorts of places, I still have leave to tease you at my leisure."_

The sound of the study door slowly creaking open brought me out of my reverie, and I looked up to see Christine entering, making sure to close the door behind her.

"Aunt Claire thought you might be in here," she said, sitting down in the chair across from me. "She said you always came in here to talk to Phillipe when you were distressed, or had discovered something exciting."

"I did," I responded, a monumental sadness knocking me in the pit of my stomach. I looked up at her, this beautiful promise of my future, the pain and frustration of all that was going on ebbing a bit. "I believe there's an imprint of my body on that chair you're sitting in."

She laughed, and I marveled at how even that sounded like a melody. She moved to cover one of my hands with hers, expression growing solemn. She looked wore wan that usual, I noticed.

"Raoul," she began, averting her eyes. "I know you might not want to hear this, but I really think we should consider accepting Erik's help in clearing your name."

I looked at her, not thoroughly shocked. I had been half expecting this conversation since we'd left the woods, but I felt an unexpected twinge of annoyance at her words. Christine and I scarcely argued, and we'd never truly fought, so I wasn't sure what was to come.

"I can't do that Christine," I said, feeling my entire body tense up even more. "I can't trust him. It's impossible."

She looked up at me now, a determined gleam in her eyes. "If there's anyone that can find out information, that can get around the authorities, it's him."

I put my head in my hands, running exasperated hands through my hair. "What good would it do to go around the authorities, Christine? It would get me in even more trouble. Putting that kind of faith in him would be insane. I know we can handle this. I'll talk some sense into them, with Uncle George's help. They haven't got any evidence, and to arrest someone from this family…" I knew I was half-rambling, but I found I couldn't control it.

"Your family name won't get you everywhere!" she shouted, cutting me off in mid-sentence. "They've already got you under house arrest. It's just a precursor to what's to come!" she said, voice so high it came out almost as a squeak.

"I know my family name won't get me everywhere!" I said, raising my voice despite myself. "I don't want it to get me everywhere. But I also know that putting my trust in a man who kidnapped you and tried to murder me isn't a good idea! He burned down the whole damn opera house for his own ends!"

She stood up, placing her hands of either side of the desk, cheeks reddening in anger. "I know that," she snapped. "God knows I know all of that," she began. "But he let us go. He came to our home the night before the wedding and attempted nothing. He attempted nothing in the woods. He's changed. The fact that he offered to help shows that! Don't you want your name cleared?" she asked, a sheen of tears starting to cover her eyes.

"He didn't attempt anything in the woods?" I asked before I could stop myself, regretting my words instantly.

"Do you not trust me?" she asked, narrowing her eyes at me for the first time in my memory.

"Of course I do!" I said, absolute sincerity in my tone. My eyes caught on her face, and in that moment I loved her so much it was painful. "But you can't argue that he sparked a passion in you that I can't measure up to. I saw you during Don Juan, I just…" I trailed off, unable to finish.

She sat back down, quiet for a moment in her astonishment. The deep-seated fear that I'd _sworn_ I'd keep to myself had erupted forth in the stressful sitation.

"I was acting in Don Juan, Raoul," she said. "I love _you_. I married _you_. I'm carrying _your_ child."

"I know you love me," I responded, heartily wishing I'd never let those few words slip from my mouth. It was silly of me to doubt her I knew, but a sinister voice inside kept egging me on. "But I'm the safe choice, aren't I? I'm your foolishly naïve childhood friend. I'm not a musical genius, I'm not mysterious."

"This is a bit off topic isn't?" she asked, folding her hands tightly in her lap. "I came in here to try and find a way to make sure you go free."

"Just tell me the truth. Please," I asked, restraining myself from shouting now that she had ceased doing so.

Before I quite knew what had happened I found Christine on the other side of the desk, pulling me up with as much strength as her small hands could muster and shaking me by the shoulders, looking frazzled.

"What do I have to do to convince you?" she asked, voice rising again. "Am I not a good wife? Am I not…"

"Of course you are! I don't want anything but for you to be yourself!" I said, my voice matching her volume level. "Don't be ridiculous Christine!"

"You're the one being ridiculous!" she countered, letting go of me and starting to pace back and forth, much like I did when anxiety overcame me. "You've got to know I have passion for you! It took every ounce of my virtue to wait for you until our wedding night! And I happen to quite like safe, thank you very much! God, that's all I've wanted since my father died, was to feel safe again. And you do that for me. You are all I ever wanted…for years."

I didn't think I'd ever seen her let go like this, not even when we were knee-deep in the middle of the fiasco at the opera house. I took her hand and she didn't pull back at my touch, her eyes boring into mine with a hard gaze.

"You have to let him help you Raoul! You just have to! I can't lose you!" What was a near scream poured from her throat, and I was quite sure that my family must have wondered just what was going on.

I felt a familiar knot twist in my stomach, sending a burning flood of nerves throughout.

"How can I do that?" I asked, still incredibly unsure. I desperately wanted to reassure her, especially now that I saw why she was so anxious to have his assistance, but I just couldn't see how I would rationalize allowing Erik into my life, allowing him into this gut-wrenching accusation that I had murdered my own brother. "I can't trust him!"

"You have to!" she repeated, squeezing the life out of my hand. "If not for my sake then for the baby's. You have to."

"I would do anything for your sake _and_ the baby's," I said, feeling unbidden tears spring to my eyes.

"Then do this," she whispered.

"I ca…" I started, before being interrupted by a third, most unexpected voice coming from the direction of the open window in the study.

"Lover's quarrel?" asked Erik, his black-clad form startling both of us. "How sweet."

Christine spun on Erik, surprising me with the vehemence that laced her tone.

"Don't Erik!" she exclaimed, looking braver than she ever had in the face of his presence. Gone was the naïve young girl who had once believed he was the angel of her father sent from heaven. "Just don't. We've…we've got enough problems. Are you here to help or not?"

"Well from what I can see your husband dearest doesn't want my help," Erik seethed, trying to maintain the façade that he wasn't surprised that she had snapped at him.

"I don't understand why you want to help," I said, feeling my beating so hard that I could see it beneath my skin. "Tell me why."

"Why should I cater to you, boy?" Erik shot back.

I felt Christine move closer to my side, fear emanating from her, although she tried to hide it.

"Erik, please," she whispered. "Either tell us why you're here or please just leave us be to figure this out."

Erik sighed, looking conflicted, his grey eyes cold.

"I will _not_," he began stiffly, the words clearly causing him pain, his humanity breaking through the coating of ice that always covered his eyes. "Allow the sacrifice I made to be put in jeopardy because of someone trying to frame the Vicomte over a petty aristocratic squabble. The police are coming for you," he said, looking me directly in the eye, the potent dislike still evident. "And are set to arrest you and place you in prison until the completion of the investigation."

I stood frozen to the spot, Christine's grip on my hand feeling as though it might break it in two.

"They're coming now, you fool," Erik continued.

"How do you…" I began, but was cut off by his harsh, grating tone.

"I'm an excellent spy," he said. "There's something suspicious going on. But if you want to avoid prison, you should come with me."

"And tell my family _what_?" I shouted, the growing insanity of the situation overcoming me. "That I ran off with the Phantom of the Opera who previously tried to kill me?"

Erik looked ready to pounce on me, but Christine moved in front of me, eyes pleading.

"Raoul, please, _please_ go with him," she begged. I hated seeing her so vulnerable, so terrified. "I can't bear to see you go to prison. Please."

"Christine," I tried to argue, my hand shaking profusely. "This can only make things worse, cause more trouble. How can I trust him? How?" I searched her eyes for the same security she had searched for in mine during those final dark days in the opera house, during those lost summer days when she'd known her father had only days left to live.

"Trust me," she said, grasping both of my hands now.

"Come with me," I whispered, knowing I was out my mind.

"No," Erik cut in, ceasing his position as a silent specter. "Christine coming will only lead the police down our trail faster. She will stay here until we return."

I opened my mouth to argue, not wanting to leave Christine, but was interrupted by Aunt Claire opening the door to the study. She closed the door behind her, not looking the least bit afraid of the man dressed all in black standing rather menacingly in her dead nephew's study.

"I thought I heard raised voices," she said, moving closer. "You're only lucky I convinced the rest of the family it was nothing. May I ask what's going on here?"

I was unnerved at her calm, and it took me a moment to answer. I gave her the facts, clear and simple, because there wasn't time for anything else.

"The police are coming for me, Aunt Claire," I said, watching as her face fell, the lines etched into her pale skin even more pronounced. "Erik," the name felt unnatural on my tongue, but I had nothing else to call him but 'opera ghost,' "found out, and thinks something suspicious is going on."

"And is trying to persuade you to escape from here before they arrive?" Aunt Claire asked, filling in the blanks for herself.

"Yes," I answered.

"You do realize this is outrageous," she replied, eyes flicking over to Christine for a moment before looking back at me. She seemingly refused to acknowledge Erik. "Absolutely incredulous."

"Aunt Claire," Christine said, letting go of my hand and taking the family matriarch's. "Something terrible is happening…I feel it. We've got to get Raoul out of here while we figure out what's going on, try to figure out who exactly is behind this."

"This man kidnapped you. He tried to kill Raoul. He isn't directly responsible for Phillipe's death, but it was his water trap that killed him," Aunt Claire said, sounding harsh with Christine for the first time. "And you expect me to trust him with the life of my nephew, my dead brother's son, the head of this family and the father to your child?"

"Please," Christine said, gaze completely focused on this woman she'd come to love and respect.

After a solid minute of silence, Aunt Claire inclined her head in a nod. She walked over to me, embracing me with all the terror, uncertainty, and affection that swelled in her heart.

"Take Phillipe's sword and pistol," she said, gesturing over to the chest in the corner. "He would want you to. We won't sleep until we uncover this. Please come back to us, Raoul. Promise me." Her voice contained a certain desperation appropriate to a woman who had lost too much.

"I will," I said, telling myself repeatedly that it was indeed true.

"We don't have time for any damn goodbyes," Erik said. "We've got to go."

I turned from Aunt Claire to Christine, who looked more resilient that she had moments before. She grabbed my face, fingers running themselves tightly through my hair.

"You will back to me," she said, a fierceness in her tone. "Do you hear me? You will come back. And we will have this child and we will be happy. We will be young again."

I nodded, too emotional to say anything. I rested my forehead against hers for a fleeting moment, before Erik roughly grabbed my jacket sleeve and pulled me to the door as Aunt Claire handed me the aforementioned sword and pistol. With one last glance at my wife and aunt, I climbed out the window and onto a waiting horse with a person whose face I had wished to never see again.


	12. Intentions Revealed

Her Savior

Chapter 12: Intentions Revealed

**Raoul's POV**

After an hour-long ride of what was composed of near utter silence, Erik slowed his horse and I followed suit, spotting a small cottage that looked as though it had seen better days mere feet away. I had asked Erik where he meant for us to go, but he had only responded with a frustrating, "Somewhere." He slid off his horse, telling me to do the same with a small nod of his head.

"What exactly is this place?" I asked, patting my horse and trying to keep the contempt out of my voice.

"It belonged to Madame Giry's husband," Erik answered in a clipped tone. "She hasn't used it for years, but offered it to me until I saw fit to leave the country. We'll tie the horses behind the cottage in the yard…we don't want them easily seen."

Without another word he turned, black cape swishing in the wind, to tie the horses up. I surveyed the area around me, noting just how remote it was; there must have been a village somewhere nearby judging by the gravel path that had been carved out, but no sounds of life aside from chirping birds could be heard. Plant life had taken over the area surrounding the cottage, covering part of the roof and crawling down the sides of the whitewashed building. The windows were all intact, but covered in what was certainly many years' worth of dirt and pollen. The whole place had a wild, untamed sort of look, as though Erik's very presence affected it. I shook my head, still unable to believe the predicament I'd found myself in, my hand traveling to rest on the hilt of Phillipe's sword, which was strapped to my belt. I felt my stomach twist farther into its already existing knot, sending what felt like acid up my throat, burning.

"Well don't just stand there!" Erik exclaimed, startling me. "Come inside. The whole point of this venture is so you don't get arrested, boy."

"Thank you so much for pointing out the obvious," I countered, spinning to face him, at my wit's end. "And if you don't mind, I'd appreciate being called by my name."

"Fine," Erik spat back. "Get inside, de Chagny."

"No," I argued. "If I have to call you by your first name, you have to call me by mine."

".Inside," he said, acid flooding his tone. "_Raoul_." Sarcasm mixed with the acid, and I wondered what on earth I'd been thinking when I'd agreed to go along with this insane scheme. I vowed to sleep with one eye open if I slept at all, not wanting to feel the burning, choking sensation of the Punjab lasso ever again. I followed him inside, hearing him slam the door behind us in his frustration.

The inside of the cottage looked better than the outside, as though Erik had been working on it since he'd arrived. It was odd to imagine a man who had once had the entire opera as his home, as his playground, living in a small cottage such as this. The whole place was meticulously clean, though it obviously hadn't been painted in years, the light blue paint peeling off the walls. A scrubbed wooden table and four chairs sat in the center of the tiny kitchen, and two armchairs rested in the adjoining sitting area. I spied what I assumed was a doorway to the bedroom off to the left, but I didn't venture inside, my eyes training themselves on Erik who was fiddling with a kettle on the stove.

"Do you deign to drink tea, de Ch…" he stopped himself, a grudge in his voice. "Raoul?"

"As long as it's not poisoned," I stated, sitting down at the table. My muscles thanked me after the breakneck ride. I finally realized how exhausted I was; I'd hardly slept for days, and I knew I'd inadvertently kept Christine up as well. Her face flashed across my mind and a small bit of warmth flooded through the chill that had set in ever since they'd accused me of Phillipe's murder. The fact that I was sitting in the same room with the man indirectly responsible for his death didn't pass me by.

"It isn't poisoned," he said, putting a steaming cup down in front of me and sitting down in the chair the farthest distance from me and looking me straight in the eye. "Unfortunately."

A veil of silence covered us for several minutes, the sun starting to fall below the trees, casting sheaths of red light across the oaken floor. I took a tentative first sip of the tea, a hint of raspberry flooding my taste buds. I chanced a glance up at Erik, who was focused on his own tea.

"How did you find out the police were coming for me?" I asked, daring to break the tension. "What did you hear?"

The man I'd once only known as "Phantom" narrowed his eyes at me as though I were an annoying insect that happened to have flown into his lair, yet I was mildly relieved that the hatred in his eyes was a fraction less than usual.

"I went and waited at the station in the village near your chateau," Erik began, pointedly looking away from me now. "The Prefect from Paris was ordering the police here to come and arrest you, despite the local chief's protests that there was absolutely no evidence. I'm positive someone is greasing his palms…no one looks that smug without a reason."

I shook my head, my mind racing. "I can't think of anyone but Chevalier…but I don't understand why he would go this far because I kicked him out of the party…he insulted Christine."

Erik snorted in disbelief.

"What?" I questioned, my temper flaring.

"It's obviously not just that, moron," he said, sipping his tea as though we were having a normal conversation. "There has to be something else. That was just the trigger. Is there some kind of petty old grudge? Something foolish an aristocrat would get angry over?"

I knew he was baiting me, but I hardly had the mental energy to fight with him so I just answered the question.

"There was, but I don't know all the details," I answered. "I know it had something to do with my father's refusal to betroth me to the Marquis' daughter, but the irreparable rift between them implied it was more than just that. But My aunt and uncle wouldn't talk about it, not even to Phillipe and especially not to me."

Erik responded with a soft "humph," and said nothing more for several minutes. I surveyed him, finding him much easier to read than he had ever been during our altercations at the Opera Populaire; instead of the cold, calculating expression I'd grown used to, his emotions registered in his eyes, bubbling barely beneath the surface. The trouble was, I still couldn't quite identify what those emotions were.

"How did he insult Christine?" he asked, a flash of familiar anger in his dark grey eyes. The sun was no longer peeking through the windows, the room lit up by candlelight alone, causing an eerie glow throughout the room.

"He…" I hesitated, unsure of whether or not what I was about to say would cause him to become as unhinged as he had during our swordfight in the cemetery, the swing of his blade wild with rage. The night in the lair had been different; he had been clear-headed albeit cruel in his intentions, but he had thought out every move. I remembered Christine practically begging me to trust him, begging me to allow him to help me. "He criticized her social standing…accused her of…being a hoar."

"My hoar, you mean," Erik finished, calmer than I'd expected.

"Yes," I responded, draining the last of my tea just to find something to do with my hands. "He just…insulted her character, her whole person, as well as me. He slandered her, implied she slept with you in return for voice lessons, implied she only married me for my money, he…" I knew I was rambling but hardly knew how to stop myself. "Why are you doing this, Erik? Why are you helping me?"

"I told you already," he answered stiffly, rising from his chair. "I won't let my sacrifice be ruined because of some worthless Marquis' petty vendetta."

"But you despise me, could have killed me if you wanted to," I argued. "Could have taken Christine like you always wanted. I just…I don't understand." I felt my heart racing, the stress of all that had happened, everything that had happened at the opera, Phillipe's death, being accused of his murder when I had a new wife and a child on the way, being forced to go on the run with a man I had considered my enemy, the threat of jail or even death on the horizon, taking its toll and making me lose any sense of rationality.

"She doesn't want me!" he shouted, losing control of his temper and rounding on me. "Even if you were dead, she still wouldn't love me in the same way I love her. She cares about me yes, but that's different. I gave up my own happiness so she could have hers, because she showed me how selfless she was when she was willing to give up her freedom to save you." He was pacing now, confessing his thoughts to me in a way I would have never expected. "Losing her broke me, but her actions also gave me back my humanity. She was kind to me even after all I'd done."

"Are you doing this to…repay her?" I asked, my voice a whisper.

"Yes, you idiot," he answered, the momentary softness in his expression disappearing. "And allowing you to die wouldn't exactly go along with that. _You_ make her happy."

Some of the things Christine had seen in her former teacher despite her fear and anger toward him were becoming clear to me now, but something happened before I could question him further, before I could thank him.

"What…" I began.

"Hush," Erik cut me off, moving without noise toward the window. "There's someone here. "Have your weapons ready."

And then it what was very similar to a nightmarish vision, the door swung open with a violent kick, revealing none other than the Marquis de Chevalier accompanied by no less than five thuggish servants.

"Ah, Raoul, there you are," Chevalier said, hand on his sword. "What a bother it was, having to chase you like this, although you really should have been better about covering your trail." His eyes flickered over to Erik, whose eyes were mere slits. "Throwing your lot in with your wife's mad lover, I see. Interesting tactic."

"Mark my words," I said, pulling out Phillipe's pistol and pointing it in Chevalier's direction. "I won't kill you honorably. I'll shoot you right here."

"No you won't," Chevalier said, gesturing to his men to come inside the small cottage. "You'll be charged with another murder that way, won't you? And no one to prove your self-defense plea but a wanted man. There's also the fact that the moment you make a move I'll send one of my men here to alert the men I've got stationed at your chateau to set it on fire, killing everyone inside, that pretty little wife of yours included."

"You bastard," Erik cut in, striding over and standing next to me. "You'll kill an innocent family to get some kind of revenge?"

Chevalier raised his eyebrows at Erik, an amused half-smile creeping onto his features. "But you know something about killing innocent people to suit your own ends, don't you Phantom?"

Erik didn't answer, and Chevalier turned back toward me. "Drop the pistol, Raoul. Give into your fate."

"No," I said, moving closer. "I won't." Flashes of my home on fire, my family, Christine and my unborn child burned in the flames ran wild through my mind. Before I realized what was happening, before I could pull the trigger, I felt a sword slice into my left arm, cutting open the finally healed wound Erik had inflicted back in the graveyard. In shock my right hand dropped the gun, my arm feeling like it was on fire, and I found Chevalier pushing me to the ground, hands pressing on my bleeding arm.

"You're not the only one who's seen battle in the navy, fool," he said, pulling my own sword out of its sheath and holding it to my throat. He looked up at Erik, who was ready to pull out his own weapon, although I was surprised to see it was his sword and not his Punjab lasso. "One wrong move, opera ghost, and my men will shoot you dead. Drop the sword."

Surprisingly Erik did as he was told, and I knew it was entirely because of the threat to Christine's life. The five men grabbed him by the arms and bound him to one of the kitchen chairs we'd been sitting in, although I could see the cogs turning behind his eyes, trying to form a plan. Chevalier grabbed me by my injured arm and dragged me across the small room, sword still at my throat. He tried to throw me against the wall, but I kicked the sword out of his hand and stood up, grabbing the front of his jacket.

"If you want to play this way," he said, looking nonplussed. He snapped his fingers. "Jean, ride to the de Chagny chateau and tell them to carry out the plan."

"No!" I exclaimed. "You won't!"

"I will," Chevalier said. "Unless you sit down and obey my every order."

I nodded, feeling sick as his fist met my solar plexus, forcing me to the floor. "Why?" I asked, voice hoarse from having the breath knocked out of me. "Because of some disagreement between you and my father?"

"You don't know the whole story, boy," he hissed. "But let me regale you. I wanted your ass of a father to betroth you to my daughter, and he denied me, saying he wouldn't betroth you when you were only a child, that he wasn't yet sure what he wanted for you. But you see, my family fortune was quickly dwindling away because of my late father's gambling problem that had left me in debt, and marrying into your family would ensure my financial and social security. But because your father denied me, we've been slipping into ruin and obscurity, a mere mockery of the family we once were, and your family just kept rising. I've been looking for years for a way to take the de Changy's down, and your foolish behavior at the opera and Phillipe's subsequent death gave me the perfect opportunity. "

"You're doing this because of a denied marriage proposal?" I asked, incredulous, acutely aware of how closely he held my own sword to my cheek. "You could have married your daughter to any of the aristocratic families in Paris!"

"We were already becoming a laughingstock, and your family was the most respected, the most financially stable," Chevalier stated, grazing the cool blade up and down my skin. "And I thought that as my friend your father would understand that. But he wasn't willing to sacrifice his _precious_ youngest son's choices, said his older son was already locked in to taking over the family responsibilities, and he wanted you to have more freedom. He was always overprotective of you. I never understood why, since you were responsible for the death of his beloved wife."

"Don't you dare!" I shouted, feeling myself start to shake, flashes of my father sitting in his study, gazing at his favorite portrait of my mother overcoming my memory. "Don't!"

"You do look like her," Chevalier said, pushing the blade, Phillipe's blade, against my cheek just hard enough to drawn blood, and I winced against the sting. "I never got the chance to take revenge on your father, but you'll do just fine."

My eyes flitted over to Erik, whose eyes were trained intensely on something that Chevalier was pulling out of his pocket, his eyes widening slightly.

"I have something for you, Raoul," he continued, putting a vile of something in front of my nose. "It's quite popular these days, actually: Laudanum. Now open up for me," he said, uncapping the vial.

"No," I said, scooting away from him. "That substance is highly addictive, especially in large doses like that. What are you playing at?"

"That's for me to know and you to find out," he whispered. "But either you drink this and become an embarrassment to your family, or be responsible for all of them perishing in a fire. Your choice."

He was trying to get me addicted to the drug, and God only knew how many days he would keep me here to achieve that goal, but I couldn't see a way out. The chateau was barely an hour away, and there was no one to intercept his messengers.

"I'll drink it," I said, hardly knowing how any of this would end, hardly believing there was a light at the end of this horrific tunnel.

"Don't," Erik said, his voice harsh and grating, not a man to be argued with. "If he has his way you'll get addicted to it, and you have no idea how difficult it is to defeat that. And this one doesn't seem very intelligent…he might give you an overdose."

"Quiet!" Chevalier shouted, eyes looking bloodshot. "You have no business interfering, Opera Ghost, although you do make my plan work even better than I'd planned. When the police find out Raoul has thrown in his lot with you…"

"I can't let them kill my family," I said, meeting Erik's eye. "I can't let them kill Christine and the baby. I can't."

With that he pushed his thumbs into my cheeks, forcing my mouth open, the liquid flowing down my throat and burning all the way like a strong brandy. In a matter of moments I felt outside of myself, a strange euphoria overcoming me, my hands feeling clammy. Christine's face passed before my eyes, her blue eyes sparkling with happiness on our wedding day, her dark curls loose around her shoulders. I saw Adelaide and Cossette smiling from their pew, Aunt Claire crying tears of joy and Uncle George looking proud. Finally, I saw Phillipe as I'd last seen him the night of the opera, face drawn with worry as he watched Christine perform Erik's opera. Then, all went blissfully black.

**Christine's POV**

I didn't know how much time had passed since Raoul had escaped with Erik, but Aunt Claire had led me to the parlor and I found myself sitting on the couch, Lucien and Aunt Claire in the chairs nearby while Uncle George was upstairs explaining the situation to Adelaide and Cossette. He'd taken the news solemnly, but I'd seen the terror written across his face. The playful laughter of Raoul's nieces and nephews echoed from the nursery down the hall.

"Christine…"

"I have to go after them!" I shouted suddenly, cold sweat running down my face. "I have to save him! He saved me and now I have to save him!"

"It won't help, Christine, do you hear me?" Lucien said, taking both of my hands with great care. "Following them won't help. I will summon my police contacts both here and in Paris immediately and we will figure it out. We will find Chevalier's whereabouts." Tears spilled from his own eyes when I looked up. I buried my face in his shoulder, sobbing and gasping for air.

I felt another warm body sit next to me on the couch, and Aunt Claire's familiar wrinkled hand on my face, as Lucien rubbed my back.

"Christine, my heart," she said, scooting closer. "I know it is extremely difficult, but you must find a way to start to calm. Extreme stress can sometimes cause harm to the baby, and I know you don't want that.

I sat up, tears still rolling down my cheeks, sandwiched between Lucien and Aunt Claire. I took a deep breath and closed my eyes for a brief second, my hand resting on my stomach, which had not quite started to show.

"He's been through too much," I whispered, hands grasping the fabric of her dress. "Too much…he lost his mother, his father, his brother, he almost lost his life…and now…"

"You both have," she said, pulling me to her chest. "It isn't fair. I know it isn't."

"We just want to live in peace," I said, feeling my heart attempting to slow its pace. "To love each other and start our family…we just want… to be young again." The memory of Raoul taking the ribbon from my hair, allowing my curls to fall free, speaking the same words, flashed in my mind.

A/N: I'm seriously sorry for the delay in updating, but luckily I just finished up my semester, so I'll have more free time. Grad school is time consuming, so I'm looking forward to summer. Anyway, I hope you all enjoyed the chapter!


	13. A Hope in the Darkness

Her Savior

Chapter 13: Hope in the Darkness

Christine's POV

Lucien and Aunt Claire had finally ordered me to rest, sending me to suite of rooms that Raoul and I shared. It was the fourth day since Erik and Raoul had escaped, and after pulling all the strings they possessed within the ranks of both the local and Paris police, Lucien and Uncle George's contacts had finally agreed to meet with us and were due to arrive in the next couple of hours. I pushed the curtains aside to glance out the window, still unnerved by the police presence outside the chateau. The Prefect had placed them there the same day Raoul and Erik had left, saying that the moment Raoul returned, they'd be waiting and ready to arrest him. He'd said it with a sick sort of pleasure, and I had no doubt that he had thrown his lot in with Chevalier on some level. I sat in the armchair by the window, hoping and praying that I would see Raoul coming up the drive, unharmed; my hand rested on my stomach, willing my child to know what a wonderful man Raoul was. Time passed in this way for a good half an hour until I heard a soft knock at the door, blonde hair visible through the crack in the door.

"Christine?" Adelaide called. "May I come in?"

"Of course," I said, patting the chair across from me, the chair Raoul had often frequented during our time here. "Always."

She sat down across from me, a certain grace in her steps similar to that of a ballet dancer, the grace that came from taking ballroom dance lessons as a young girl, the grace that came from being raised as he had, the grace of a woman whose family had been one of the most respected in France for nearly 400 years. Her light blue dress rustled as she crossed her legs, loose flaxen hair falling over her right shoulder. The entire de Chagny family shared similar physical traits, but in that moment I realized just how similar Adelaide was to Raoul; if she hadn't been five years older, they could have been fraternal twins. There was a question in her eyes, a question I'd been expecting to hear from someone for the past several days. I wasn't afraid however; Adelaide had quickly become one of my closest friends, and while Meg and Madame were traveling as fast as possible to get here, Adelaide had been an immense comfort.

"Christine, I…" she began, clear hesitation in her voice. "I don't know how to ask…"

"You want to know why I trusted Erik to help Raoul escape," I said softly. "It makes sense that you'd want to know that. I'm actually surprised you're not angry at me."

"I was at first," she admitted, smiling slightly at me. "But then I realized that Aunt Claire trusted your judgment, and that Raoul trusted your judgment. I just wondered what made you trust him."

"He approached me a few days ago, in the woods," I said, looking out the window again. "And he wanted to help. If he'd wanted to hurt Raoul that afternoon, if he'd wanted to take me, he could have. The insanity I saw in his eyes that night in the lair, the rage… It was gone. There was just sadness."

She reached over, taking my hand loosely in hers, the warmth reassuring me.

"Raoul has only spoken about that night in the lair twice to me since it happened," she said, tears sparkling in her eyes but never falling. "But I know it changed him…changed you…changed the Opera Ghost."

I nodded. "I just knew that Erik was the one who could best keep Raoul hidden, would be the best at finding out whatever evil is afoot here…he works well in secrecy. It just felt right. I don't think I'm right about everything, but I'm right about his. I feel it in my gut."

"It was hard though, wasn't it?" she whispered, squeezing my hand tighter.

"Yes," I answered, squeezing in return.

She was about to speak up once more when Lucien's voice carried up the stairs.

"Christine, Adelaide!" he exclaimed, panting as he reached the door. "Chief Inspector Carlier, along with some other officers…they overhead the Prefect dealing with Chevalier down near the station; the scoundrel was greasing his palms with God only knows how much money!"

"They're dropping the charges?" I questioned, standing up with more celerity than I'd ever had before.

"They know now that Raoul didn't kill Phillipe, that Chevalier was trying to frame him," Lucien replied. "They've taken the Prefect into custody, and he's been stripped of his position, obviously. But Chevalier…"

"Escaped," I said, somehow knowing that would be the answer before the words left my lips. "Lucien, I…I think those gendarmes outside, I think they're Chevalier's men."

Lucien's pale green eyes widened, but he visibly tried to calm himself.

"More local police and my contacts from Paris will be here in minutes," Lucien said. "I'll let the Inspector Carlier know. He's downstairs now, he can patrol."

With that, I grabbed Adelaide's hand and followed Lucien down the winding stairs, eager and willing to help them find where Raoul and Erik had gone. As soon as my feet hit the landing, Cossette came up to me, a letter in her hand.

"It's from Madame Giry," she said, and I noticed her eyes were rimmed with red from crying though she'd clearly tried to hide it with makeup. "She and Meg are a day's train ride away. But…"

She handed me the letter and I finished reading the rest of the letter.

_I was supposed to keep this to myself in order to keep the police from questioning you about Raoul and Erik's whereabouts, but now there is too much danger, my dear. I am lending Erik an old property of my husbands, a small cottage, about an hour's ride north away from the de Chagny chateau. I'm confident that's where Erik took Raoul. _

My eyes skipped over the rest of the words, hardly even taking them in, then roved over to Lucien, who was informing the inspector of my fears that the men surrounding the chateau were Chevalier's hired gendarmes rather than honest police officers.

"Madame Giry thinks that…" I paused, unsure of how to word my next statement. "Our friend took Raoul to a small cottage about an hour's ride north of here. And we might find Chevalier there as well. It's the only lead we've got, and if Chevalier is on the run…"

"He'll probably head there first to carry out his plan," Inspector Carlier cut in. "We have to get there before he does."

Erik' s POV

Three days passed, a total of four since we'd first fled from de Chagny chateau, and I half-regretted getting involved in this whole situation. Chevalier had ordered me to prepare food once a day in order that de Chagny would be able to tolerate a higher dosage. He'd given him two dosages a day for as long as we'd been here, and the boy wasn't doing well. His breathing had become shallower, and something had to give. I had to get him back to Christine, and the only reason I hadn't attempted to murder the deranged older noble on the spot was for fear of one of his servants riding for the chateau and ordering the men stationed there to set it aflame. Perhaps Chevalier was only bluffing, but there was no way to know that for sure. I watched as he seized de Chagny by his hair, yanking him roughly. I knew the more laudanum entered his system, the more likely it was that respiratory depression would occur. I'd seen some of the gypsies that had held me captive for so many years become addicted to this particular drug, and it wasn't a pretty picture. The withdrawal especially, was nasty, and overdosing on it could cause convulsions and death, which was one of the reasons I'd never tried the substance, despite the fact that it had the perfect ability to chase away reality.

"No!" de Chagny exclaimed with more force than I'd thought possible in his current state. "I won't let you!"

"Remember the police officers I have at your chateau," Chevalier reminded him. "They'll kill your family, your wife and child included, and then that will ruin my plan."

"What are you planning now, you bastard?" de Chagny asked, voice harsher than I'd ever heard it. "It can't be worse than what you've already tried to do."

"I actually think it might be," Chevalier said, his voice a sickly sweet whisper. "Now open up, or they all die. I'd hate to see that pretty wife of yours wasted in such a way, or your sisters for that matter. Although I'm sure as soon as I deliver your worthless drug addicted ass back to your chorus girl, she'll run right into the arms of your friend the Phantom over there. She won't want a murderous addict raising her child, now will she? How embarrassing will that be, Raoul?"

De Chagny grabbed Chevalier's wrist, trying to tip the laudanum away from his mouth, but the effects of the drug had left him weak, and Chevalier wasted no time in pinning him against the wall and kneeing the boy directly in the ribs, causing a spluttering cough to erupt from his lungs. The sickening crack left me in no doubt that at least one of de Chagny's ribs was broken, and a few small drops of blood trickled from his lips.

"Would you rather have her dead, your child included, or in the arms of another man?" Chevalier questioned. "Answer!"

De Chagny's blue eyes widened in pain and surprise, and in that moment his face betrayed how young he still was. Just 21, he had told me, and likely to die from a laudanum overdose if I couldn't figure out a way to overtake Chevalier without one of his thugs riding instantly to the de Chagny chateau and killing Christine and her child. I had no qualms about killing any of them, but whether I'd be able to take them all out without one escaping was something else.

"Answer me, boy!" Chevalier shouted, grasping a fistful of Raoul's shirt, his face turning red in anger. It was obvious that the younger man wanted nothing more than to fight back, and I could begrudgingly admit that he'd probably win in a sword fight. But Chevalier had far too much leverage for de Chagny to risk attacking him.

"Another man," he finally whispered, sounding defeated.

"That's what I thought," Chevalier taunted him. "Now open up."

The fiend tipped the liquid drug into the boy's mouth, a smirk overtaking his features.

"Now you haven't been behaving so I'm going to have to take some precautionary measures, unfortunately," Chevalier said in the most condescending tone possible, pulling two lengths of rope from his coat pocket, causing de Chagny to flinch, no doubt flashing back to my own rope around his neck. He tied de Chagny's hands behind his back as well as binding his feet together, leaving him no way to defend himself. Beads of sweat were gathering on his forehead as his eyes started to flutter closed.

"Just think Raoul," Chevalier whispered, his mouth close to Raoul's ear. "Your family will be ashamed of you, they won't want you anymore after you caused yet _another_ scandal. They'll probably start to think that you did kill Phillipe in some kind of drug induced rage, and they won't defend you when the police come. Your whole family will be in tatters, with no credibility left to be had. All of Paris will think you, the golden child of the de Chagny's, killed your brother, helped a known criminal, are a secret drug addict, and then," he ran his hand across his neck in a gesture no doubt, of the guillotine.

I saw every muscle in de Chagny's body tense up, but he made no comment, obviously doing his best to keep his fear at bay, not wanting to show any weakness to Chevalier.

"I'm afraid gentlemen, that I must leave you temporarily," he continued, gazing with satisfaction at Raoul, who was barely conscious now. "I'm on my way for a meeting with the Prefect, to discuss our plans, and then I'll return to deliver the two of you back the de Chagny chateau, where the police will come to retrieve de Chagny in no less than 72 hours. They let you get away before…it won't happen again."

I glared at him, fervently wishing I could slaughter him with my eyes, the piece of scum. He was exactly the kind of man I hated most, the kind of aristocrat who would stop at nothing for power and prestige, stepping on anyone who got in his way.

"Oh don't you worry, opera ghost," he said, meeting my piercing stare. "I don't intend on turning you in. That way de Chagny's chorus girl can run right into your arms and embarrass him further. And the public knowing that he was with you and didn't turn you in, that his family knew…well, that's just the cherry on top."

He took de Chagny's chin in his hand and forced him to look at him directly. The boy's eyes held a gleam of hatred so potent I hadn't thought him capable, even when he'd been shooting daggers at me that night in the lair.

"Don't you think of going anywhere," he whispered. "My men will be waiting just outside the doors and I'd really like your shame to be aired publicly, so kindly don't make them kill you now."

With that he walked out, slamming the door behind him and leaving de Chagny and I alone in the cottage. Arrogant as he was he hadn't bothered to secure my bonds, and I slipped out of the ropes easily, making my way toward de Chagny. His face had paled significantly, his chest rising rapidly to catch his breath. Sweat ran down his face, yet he shivered; there was no doubt he was near to having overdosed, and I knew I had to keep him alert, had to talk to him, despite the fact that I really wanted to keep conversation with him to a minimum.

"de Chagny," I said, shaking his shoulder in an attempt to get him to open his eyes and prevent him from falling into another drug induced slumber.

I undid his bonds but nothing happened, and I could tell from the unconscious tears now sliding down his cheeks that he had slipped from Laudanum's usual euphoria to dysphoria, which was surely a bad sign. Part of me considered just sneaking out and leaving him to his unjust fate, but then I remembered Christine's desperate pleas to make sure he returned to her, and I knew I couldn't cause her anymore pain. I didn't know that I'd ever seen her as shattered as I had just days ago, and that was surely a bold statement; the pools of pain in her eyes had been almost too much for me to bear.

"Raoul," I said, reverting to use of his first name although it tasted virulent on the tip of my tongue, too informal, too friendly for a man who was my bitterest rival. I knew he was a good man or I wouldn't have let Christine go with him, but it didn't mean I couldn't despise him merely for being the man Christine wanted instead of me. "You must pay attention." I shook him harder.

His eyes flickered open, looking hazy. "Trouble…breathing," he muttered. "Can't let him hurt Christine…the baby…my family."

"We're going to get out of here when the sun sets," I said, still rather unsure of how I'd accomplish that, but knowing that I worked best under the cover of velvet night. "But you have to focus now. Talking is the best way to do that under these circumstances."

"What could you possibly want to hear _me_ talk about?" he asked, eyes closing again as he leaned his head against the wall. I noticed the slash on his arm was deeper than I'd first thought, and the thin cut on his face was smeared with dried blood.

"I don't _want_ to hear you talk about anything," I snapped. "But you need to stay alert. Just…tell me your life story, if you wish." Sarcasm was wrapped around my every word, but it also seemed like the simplest topic. It required little to no effort from me and was enough to keep him focused until I could devise an escape route. "And open your eyes."

He did as I said, but wouldn't look at me, obviously embarrassed at being in such a vulnerable state in front of me. From all I'd seen of him he was a man of action and not one who liked to sit idly by, but with the threat on his family's life, on Christine and his child's life, he had been presented with no other choice. He hesitated.

"Speak, boy," I said, frustrated.

"Fine," he said, breathing still shallow. "Well, I'm the youngest of my siblings. Phillipe was twenty years my senior. My sister Cossette fifteen years and my sister Adelaide five years. My mother died in childbirth with me…she had been sick and there were complications, so everyone was always rather protective of me, and Phillipe and Cossette especially were more like parents, Adelaide was more like my sibling since she was closer in age. My father passed away when I was twelve, only a couple of years before Christine's own father passed away. Met Christine when I was nine and she was seven, then saw her a few summers after that. Before the opera, I last saw her when I was fourteen and she'd just turned thirteen. We bonded, I think, over being raised without our mothers."

I couldn't help but be a bit surprised. I had expected a more idyllic childhood from a man of his circumstance. It struck me how hard the loss of his brother must have hit him, but I tried to shake it off, not wanting to feel sympathy for my rival.

"My siblings and my Aunt Claire, the one you met, essentially raised me, and Phillipe always tried to make everything perfect for me to make up for our parents dying when I was so young." He was almost mumbling now, but I let it pass. At least he was still talking, and the sun was finally starting to set. I saw the tears threatening him again at the mention of his brother, his threshold very much lowered from the effects of the drugs. "I finished my schooling and then joined the navy for two years when I was eighteen. I'd just come home when my family took over patronage of the opera. I love my family to no end, but it's hard sometimes…people in this country have so many damned expectations as soon as they hear my name."

He stopped, placing a hand on his stomach, his eyes falling closed again. I responded, shaking him by the shoulders again.

"If you're going to be sick, be sick, but you cannot fall asleep, do you hear me? You've overdosed," I said, getting up to pour him a glass of water. "Drink this. All of it. That fool. I knew this would happen."

He complied, gulping down the water, his entire body starting to shake. His eyes closed again and I knew he was going into a convulsion. There was nothing for it, so he allowed me to move him away from the wall and place him in a laying down position, trying to make the contact minimal. After several minutes that seemed an eternity it finally subsided, but his breath was still dangerously shallow. I moved to check his pulse, finding that his heart was beating at a pace that was far too rapid. The sun was bleeding red against the windows…only a few minutes until darkness would fall. It would have been incredibly helpful if de Chagny were in good enough condition to help fight off the five thugs outside, but it was clear that it was out of the question. As much as I wished I could blame him, I couldn't; he'd sacrificed himself for Christine. Again. He was too gallant for his own good.

"Just…just sit still and hold on," I told him. "Sit up and open your eyes." I watched as he did as instructed, pulling himself back toward the wall. He leaned against it and shook his head as though trying to shake off the drugs. I filled another glass of water from a pitcher on the table and pushed it into his hands. "Drink more. You're dehydrated as well."

I moved away from him and looked out into the front yard; as I had suspected, three of the five had slipped into sleep. I also spied a wagon resting off to the side, which would be helpful in transporting the boy back to his chateau. I walked into my bedroom and retrieved my old lasso, cursing Chevalier for taking de Chagny's sword and pistol, as well as my own blade, with him when he'd left. It was good strategy on his part, but it was highly irritating on mine. As my mind whirred with an escape plan the sun finally set behind the hills, and I was in my element once again; the cover of darkness.

A/N: Hi all! I do hope you liked this chapter, and my try at Erik's POV. The next chapter should be up soon!


	14. Coming Home

Her Savior

Chapter 14: Coming Home

**Raoul's POV**

I wasn't sure how it happened. I heard the sounds of a serious scuffle and the curses of the men who were meant to keep us prisoner piercing the air. Then there was silence. Then Erik's voice next to my ear.

"Can you walk de Chagny?" he questioned, breathing deeply to regain the oxygen he'd lost. "We need to hurry…Chevalier will no doubt be returning. I'm certain we aren't done with him."

"I think I can manage," I said. "How…"

"There' a horse and a wagon outside," he said. "They must have planned on transporting something."

I shuddered to think of the possibilities and followed Erik outside, noting the corpses of Chevailer's thugs. There'd been no choice, however. They would have killed us in a moment, given the chance.

"I could try to ride," I suggested, spying one of the spare horses.

"You're not in the condition," Erik said, his tone not one to be argued with. "You're running on adrenaline alone, and that won't last the hour's ride. You can hardly walk as it is. Get in the cart."

I made to do as he asked, the world still hazy in front of me, but found myself stopping in my tracks and turning to face the man who mere months ago had been my mortal enemy, his grey eyes glinting beneath the white mask.

"What?" he asked harshly. "We haven't got time. You could be dead soon if we don't get help."

"Thank you," I said simply, then turned to sit in the wagon, pain from my wounds coursing through my veins, on fire. I closed my eyes against the pull of the laudanum, heartily wishing I'd been able to assist Erik in fighting Chevalier's men but knowing it would have been impossible in my state. The world was melting away under the influence of the drug, and my stomach roiled against the immense amount I'd been given. I vaguely remembered convulsing earlier, knowing that it wasn't a good sign. I thought of Christine and how worried she must be, thought of her immense strength in sending me off with Erik to keep me safe, thought of our child resting in her womb, no idea of the turmoil its parents were experiencing. Flashes of colorful memory swirled about in my mind, meshing into one another. Blackness overtook me, and I didn't remember the rest of the journey home. The next thing I knew, the wagon wheels were crunching on gravel and the shout of a familiar voice echoed through the night sky.

"They've returned!" Lucien exclaimed, his footsteps moving closer.

I opened my eyes, the haze from the drugs ebbing slightly, but my body still aching from the pain. I wasn't entirely sure I could form a coherent sentence.

"My God Raoul," Lucien said, kneeling down as I attempted to sit up. "What did they do to you?" His hands rested carefully on my shoulders, frightened green eyes searching my face as though willing me to tell him I was only kidding, like the tricks I'd often played during our childhood.

"Chevalier drugged him heavily several times," Erik said, keeping his tone even. "And there are various other injuries. Someone needs to fetch a doctor now if you wish him to live."

Lucien looked up at Erik with widened eyes, and I felt my stomach give way, feeling as if I might retch, starting to shake all over, my body wishing to expel the drugs from within.

"Lucien," I said, noticing how hoarse my voice was. I grasped his arm to remain steady. "Where is Christine?"

I needn't have asked, however. I looked up to see her approaching, curls askew and dark circles puffing up under blue eyes.

"Raoul?" she asked, eyes flickering to the blood on my arm and the way I held a hand on my ribcage. "What…"

"Laudanum," Erik said, a hint of kindness entering his tone. "But he needs a doctor, otherwise the trouble I took won't have been worth it. He's overdosed."

Lucien nodded at a stable boy who was standing by to ride for the doctor, and I saw Uncle George approach, looking frightened.

"What the devil has happened?" he asked. I felt his hand on my shoulder, my stomach giving way as I vomited into the grass. He put a hand to my forehead and I couldn't help but be reminded of Phillipe, who had performed the same gesture countless times when I was a boy, always worrying for my health. "He's burning up." He looked up at Erik, the mask instantly giving away his identity. "Did you do this, you fiend?" he questioned, starting to make his way over to Erik, eyes blazing.

"He didn't," I whispered, cutting off Erik's reply, my head spinning again. "Chevalier did. Erik brought me back here."

"It's Laudanum," Lucien cut in. "I've sent for the doctor…Chevalier has apparently been drugging him heavily. We need to get him inside."

Christine's small hands were tracing circles on my back, and I leaned into her touch, hardly daring to believe that I was back home.

"Just give me a moment," I said, looking up at Uncle George, whose face had paled significantly. "And I can walk."

"Don't be ridiculous Raoul," Lucien said. "We'll carry you inside. You can hardly move for shaking."

I made to protest, but found myself on the other end of Christine's glare and fell silent, finding it ever more difficult to get a deep breath. I glanced up at Erik, who was standing with his arms crossed, looking unsure.

"Come…inside," I said, gasping for breath as I looked up at him. "Refresh yourself."

"Raoul," Uncle George said, stern now. He was speaking to the boy I'd once been, rather than the man I was, although I couldn't blame him. "I don't think…"

"This man has helped me and deserves a place to rest," I argued, closing my eyes against the next wave of nausea and trying to resist feeling panicked. "I insist on it."

He didn't argue further, but I knew I hadn't heard the end of it. I might have been the head of the family but I was still the youngest, and despite the fact that I was now an adult, everyone still had the desire to protect me. The world started to spin again as I felt Lucien and Uncle George lift me up, Christine holding my hand as they walked toward the chateau.

**Christine's POV**

Aunt Claire and I had been gently ordered out of Raoul's room when Dr. Barton had arrived, and now sat in the living room with everyone else, waiting. Erik sat in the farthest corner, receiving both curious and angered glares from various members of the family. Raoul had lost consciousness again shortly after we'd taken him to his room, but the expressions of anguish on Aunt Claire, Cossette, and Adelaide's faces when they'd seen Raoul being carried in by Uncle George and Lucien weren't ones I'd soon be forgetting. Seeing Raoul, who was always so full of life, who was always lending a smile to anyone who needed uplifting, who was always showing bravery in circumstances when others would run and hide, laying limp as an old rag doll, broken, threatened to wrench my heart in half. I wanted nothing more than to be by his side, but knew the doctor needed room to do his job; he had promised I could return in just a few minutes. I looked up at Erik, hardly daring to break the silence but knowing it was important to know what happened. Lucien's arm tightened slightly around my shoulders.

"Erik?" I questioned, causing everyone's glances to snap in my direction. "What…what happened?"

Erik snorted in disdain. "Am I allowed to speak in the revered house of de Chagny?"

Uncle George and Cossette looked as if they were about to give a resounding "no," but Adelaide spoke up. She looked more unkempt than I'd ever seen her, makeup smeared from tears, her hair having come loose from its bun, but she seemed to take courage from Aunt Claire's warm hand resting over her own.

"You may speak monsieur," she said, looking him directly in the eyes, which seemed to unnerve him.

"Please," I said, a hand resting on my stomach. "Where is Chevalier?"

Erik huffed, looking annoyed, but consented at my pleading.

"I have no idea where he is now," he admitted. "But I can tell you that you probably haven't seen the last of him. He followed us to the…hiding spot I'd chosen. He took our weapons, threatened that if de Chagny didn't drink the Laudanum he would send his men to set this whole place ablaze. He had men here."

"You were right about that Christine," Lucien said, turning to look at me. "It's a good thing you caught on."

"Chevalier drugged the Comte twice a day for the entire three days. Heavily…"

"Just why should we believe your version of the story?" Cossette cut in, and I'd never heard her sound so harsh. It was the tone of a woman who had been through far too much in too little time. The sick fear of losing her other brother raced through her veins, that much was clear.

"Because I have no reason to lie, Madame," Erik said, a familiar acid flooding his tone. "You believe I would bring your brother back here simply to lie to you? That would be exceedingly foolish."

"Now see here," Uncle George piped up, his normally benign eyes flashing with fury. "I can hardly tolerate having you in this house after all you've done, so you will at the very least show some respect!"

"For what?" Erik shot back. "I did this for Christine, not for you and your family."

Both men rose, and before I quite knew what I was doing I was on my feet and standing between them.

"Stop!" I shouted holding out my hands in both directions. "This is not the time for an argument." I turned first to Uncle George. "I recognize this is a difficult situation, an awkward one, but Erik helped bring Raoul back to us and Raoul has asked that he be shown gratitude for that." I turned to Erik, fixing him with such an uncompromising gaze that he raised one eyebrow in response, the fire in his eyes dimming slightly. "And you will not treat any member of this family with contempt. They are my family now, and if you care about me you will show them respect."

I stepped back, anxious. I found myself unable to banish images of Chevalier forcing the liquid drug down Raoul's throat under threat of murdering his entire family; there was no way Raoul would have refused.

"I agree with Christine," Aunt Claire, said, eyes roving up to the staircase as Dr. Barton came down, a serious expression etched into every line of his face.

"He is very ill," he began, looking at each of us in turn before meeting my eyes. "I've given him some medications, one of which will cause him to vomit through the night to get the drugs out of his system, and I'm doing my best to get his breathing back to normal."

"Will he…will he survive?" I asked, feeling my hands starting to shake and trying to calm myself, knowing it wasn't good for the baby. The mere idea of losing Raoul made every inch of me tremble, inside and out.

"There is hope, Vicomtess," he said, offering a small smile of comfort. "I think I'll be able to keep the wound on his arm from getting infected, which is of course a good thing considering how long it went untended, although two of his ribs are broken. I am worried about him having another convulsion, but hopefully we can get the drug cleared out of his system as quickly as possible, although it will not be a pleasant process. This first night will be the test; if he makes it through this I believe he will survive. But it won't be an easy recovery."

I nodded, feeling Aunt Claire coming up behind me, a hand resting on my shoulder. My eyes were dry as I steadied myself, knowing I had to be strong for Raoul.

"I'm also concerned," Dr. Barton continued, a marked uneasiness in his voice, "That he may go through a short withdrawal period. From what Monsieur Erik has imparted to me, Raoul was very heavily dosed within such a short period and the drug is being fored to leave his body so violently that it is likely. I do not think it will be deadly, but it will be ugly. If it comes to that we will need to discuss procedure. As for now, I believe only two people should be allowed in at once."

I turned to Aunt Claire, asking her merely with a glance to be the one to accompany me. She nodded, bidding Josephine, the de Changy's housekeeper since before Raoul's mother had died, to see that a guest room was prepared for the good doctor. I glanced back at Erik, who, though his expression was made of nothing less than stone, had a lost gleam in his eyes. I sensed he would have gone directly back to the cottage if he hadn't thought Chevalier might also return there, and although he was certainly capable of finding his own way, something was holding him here. Aunt Claire caught my gaze and nodded once again, giving permission.

"There's a guest house just down past the stables," I told him, knowing full well he would outright refuse an offer to stay in the main house, and I wasn't sure it would be good for any of us in any case. "You can go rest there, if you like. Thank…" I stumbled over my words, still unbelieving of the entire situation. "Thank you for bringing him back to us."

He nodded stiffly, and Lucien hesitantly agreed to show him the way, Erik gruffly assuring him that he had no murderous intentions unless Lucien served to annoy him. I turned back toward the staircase, thoughts focusing on my husband, finding myself terrified to see the full horror of his condition, of what he'd gone through in order to preserve my life, our child's life, his family's life.

"I'm warning you now," Dr. Barton said gravely, turning toward us as we reached the top of stairs. "He isn't himself, and he's in pain. It will pass, but try to keep your alarm in check. He needs a calming effect."

We treaded down the hall, and I could hear Raoul emitting groans of pain from outside the door. We entered to see Raoul retch into a bucket that had been left by the bedside, every inch of him shaking, a sheen of sweat covering his face. I bit back a gasp, hand sliding out of Aunt Claire's as I made my way over to him. I sat down gingerly on the bed and massaged small circles across his back, watching as he closed his eyes. Aunt Claire seized a cloth from his bedside and wiped his forehead, looking lost for the first time since I'd met her.

"Christine," Raoul whispered, hand moving to grasp mine as I helped him lay back against the pillows. "Please…please make it stop."

"Oh darling," I said, squeezing his hand. "It will stop, I promise. Do you trust me?"

He nodded, too exhausted to mutter anything more, his breathing still frighteningly shallow, but looking like it was at least improved from earlier. I looked out the window at the night sky littered with stars, praying to God that Raoul would survive the night. If he didn't, I knew I wouldn't be the only one who was irreparably shattered.

A/N: I'm sorry the update has taken so long! Life just got in the way. I'm hoping to have the next chapter up soon however, since I sort of left you at a cliffhanger. Thanks to everyone who has read or reviewed!


	15. Into the Darkness

Her Savior

Chapter 15: Into the Darkness

Christine's POV

The night passed, and Raoul survived. Day passed, and his breathing started returning to normal. Night came again, and nothing short of pure hell enveloped us all. He was recovering, albeit very slowly, from the overdose, but the withdrawal symptoms were setting in, and I found I had no idea how to face the situation. I only knew I had to be strong, and yet I felt my resilience cracking; I was angry at God for allowing this to happen to my husband, furious at Chevalier, enraged at the police for getting roped into his insane scheme, angry at them for believing Raoul was capable of such a thing as murdering his beloved brother. I sat vigil beside Raoul's bed; he'd fallen asleep about an hour ago, after hardly sleeping the night before, due to the emetic Dr. Barton had given him. He didn't look remotely peaceful, however. He tossed and turned, a pained expression on his face. Adelaide had sat with us for quite a while, but when she had been unable to stop from sobbing uncontrollably, Cossette had gently ordered her to go and check on the children, the nieces and nephews that were constantly asking what was wrong with their Uncle Raoul.

I grabbed a cloth from the bedside table and wiped Raoul's forehead, which was dotted with perspiration despite the fact that it wasn't warm in the room.

"He's starting to go through withdrawal, isn't he?" Cossette asked quietly, for once looking to me for strength, unable to be the rock she usually was.

"Dr. Barton said he was," I answered, running a finger lightly over Raoul's pale cheek. "He expelled the drug so quickly and violently that it isn't a surprise. But he says it will be a short withdrawal period. Just 24 hours or so. He was just drugged so heavily…"

Cossette's fingernails dug into her palms, leaving angry red indents on her skin. Her usually primly done blonde hair fell around her shoulders, unencumbered by pins, combs, or bands of any kind.

"I can't believe this happened to him, to my baby brother," she said, held back tears apparent in her voice. "He's…he's been through enough. We already almost lost him once in the last few months, and although we all miss Phillipe terribly, Raoul was the closest to him, he was practically a second father to him. Raoul never knew our mother…it's just too much."

"It is," I responded, my eyes oddly dry. "I…don't know if he'll be quite the same after this."

"No," Cossette replied with a shake of her head. "But I think he'll hold on to that natural optimism he's always had. For you and the baby if nothing else," she said, reaching and laying her hand on my stomach for a fleeting second.

Both of us stopped speaking as the sheets rustled and Raoul opened his eyes. He sat up carefully, and I reached behind him to shift the pillows. He smiled weakly at me, but there was a sheen of pain covering his eyes.

"What's wrong darling?" I asked, before he could even broach the topic. He likely wouldn't have.

"I…" he began, hesitant. "Well my whole body hurts, to tell you the truth. My muscles feel like they're on fire, actually. Can Dr. Barton give me…"

"He can't give you any similar opiate painkillers," I whispered. "Not yet at least. He doesn't know how your body will react after the overdose. He said there were some alternative treatments. I'll go get…"

"No," he said, reaching for my hand, and I noticed his was trembling like mad. "Please don't leave."

For him to admit his weakness spoke to how much pain he must have been in, and Cossette, knowing this, rose up from her chair.

"I'll go and send someone to fetch Dr. Barton," she said, running a gentle hand over the top of her brother's head. "I know he went across the way to tend to a sick child, but it's only 10 minutes from here."

"Thank you," Raoul said, attempting to smile at her, and momentarily grasping her hand. "Could you possibly send Lucien up if he's not busy?"

"Of course," she said, absentmindedly brushing a stray blonde hair from his face, a faint smile slipping onto her countenance.

It was quiet between us as Cossette closed the door softly, and we could hear Aunt Claire's tired voice asking how Raoul was doing when they met in the hallway. Their voices faded, and Raoul turned to me, scooting over to make room for me on the large bed.

"Raoul, you're ill, you can have the bed to yourself," I protested.

"Just sit with me?" he asked, and I found, as always that it was impossible for me to refuse him when he looked at me that way, his blue eyes wide. He'd had that look ever since we were children, and it was something that had never left him.

I shifted from the chair and onto the bed, stretching my legs out and leaning against the headboard. I reached for Raoul's hand again, intertwining his fingers securely in my own.

"I'm so sorry Christine," he uttered, looking down at our hands rather than into my eyes as he usually would.

"What could you possibly be sorry for?" I exclaimed more loudly than I'd intended.

"I should have…I should have taken control of the situation," he said, voice shaking. "I shouldn't have let him get the better of me. If Erik hadn't…"

"You listen to me Raoul de Chagny," I said taking his chin in my hand and forcing him to look at me. "He threatened to set this house aflame and kill your entire family. He beat you. He drugged you to the point where you almost died. You have nothing to be sorry for. You saved us."

His eyes flickered down to my stomach, and he placed his free hand upon it wordlessly, then looked back up at me.

"I never thought I'd see the day," he said, an edge of frustration in his voice. "But I'll have to thank Erik for getting me out of there."

"I'm certainly grateful to him," I replied, squeezing his hand tighter. "And there will be time for you to thank him. I think he's waiting out Chevalier. But please listen to me when I tell you that you're braver than you could possibly realize."

He smiled again, and I found that the sight lifted my heart.

"I just have one request," he said, his eyes shaded with apprehension. "I don't want my family to come in while this goes on. Just you, Lucien, and Dr. Barton."

"But Raoul…"

"They can come back after the…after the withdrawal period is over, while I'm healing from everything else, but I just…I can't let them see me like that…" He trailed off, his eyes glossing over with tears that he wouldn't let fall.

I suddenly understood. The de Chagny clan was incredibly close-knit, and Raoul was the darling, the baby, but now he was the head of the family, and in Phillipe's absence, he desperately wanted to be strong for them, even in a time such as this, when no one would expect him to be.

"They've been through enough," he said, echoing his older sister's earlier words. "I'm not pushing them away, I just…"

"I understand sweetheart," I said, dabbing the sweat away from his forehead once more. "It's okay. But you know they'll be trying to beat down the door."

He chuckled slightly, wincing in pain just as Lucien opened the door, the usual merry gleam missing from his green eyes.

"Sorry it took me a bit to come up," he said, sitting in the chair that I had just vacated. "I was just speaking with the inspector. They haven't found Chevalier yet, but they're keeping two armed guards at the door for now." His eyes roved over his best friend, concern imminent in his expression. "How are you?"

"I feel like hell," Raoul answered honestly.

I squeezed his hand again, praying that we could just make it through this night, willing God to hear me.

**RC Phantom RC Phantom RC Phantom RC Phantom**

Hearing Raoul trying to muffle his shouts of pain broke my heart perhaps worse than hearing them at their full volume. Dr. Barton, who was staying full time at the chateau now until Raoul was fully recovered, had given him something for the pain, but it barely grazed the surface. Laudanum withdrawal was worse than most substances, he'd said, because of the combination of the morphine and the alcohol. Lucien ran a hand gently up and down Raoul's back as he retched once more into the bucket, looking completely lost for words. After he'd dry heaved for the last time, he looked up at me, an almost wild look in his eyes, pupils dilated.

"Christine," he said, sweat running rivers down his face. "I don't…I can't…"

"Shhh," I said, pushing gently on his chest, and laying his head on my lap. "It's okay. Lucien and I are here."

"Chevalier is going to find us," he said, anxious as I'd ever heard him. "I know he is, and I won't be able to save any of you."

Dr. Barton had said that intense anxiety was a part of the withdrawal, so I tried desperately to reassure Raoul.

"It will all be fine darling," I said, memories of the night of Don Juan suddenly flashing in my memory, the way Raoul had held me in the chapel before the opening, whispering words of comfort in my ear. It was odd now, to think that Erik was just over in the guest house. "I promise you."

Raoul nodded, closing his eyes briefly, face twisted in agony; the mix of recovering from the overdose, the current withdrawal, and his other injuries proving to be almost too much.

"Is there nothing Dr. Barton can use to sedate him?" Lucien asked, looking truly fearful now.

"He said that he will in a few hours, but he's just concerned about putting anything else into Raoul's system," I replied. "We just… we have to get through a little longer."

I resumed massaging Raoul's arm muscles as he held his stomach, the cramping spreading across him like wildfire. Goosebumps raced up his arms, tiny flesh-colored bumps popping up on his skin.

"I'll kill that bastard," Lucien said, a fire in his eyes. "He'd damn well better hope the police won't let me near him."

"You or Uncle George both," I said. "I still can't believe he did this over an old grudge, over a desire to be at the top of the social ladder."

"I can," Lucien said, meeting my eyes for a moment. "Some people are nasty, and they'll do anything to gain what they want." His expression softened. "That's why you and people like your friend Meg are a breath of fresh air. Are she and her mother still coming?"

"They said they would be here tomorrow," I said. "They got delayed because of the rains yesterday."

Raoul opened his eyes again, grabbing frantically for both of my hands, and suddenly, before I even knew what was happening, he was convulsing again.

"Dr. Barton!" I screamed, the tears finally pouring forth.

**RC Phantom RC Phantom RC Phantom RC Phantom**

Two hours later found Lucien sleeping on the cot on the far side of the room, while I remained on the bed, clinging to a sedated Raoul as though I were afraid someone would come and rip him away from me. The convulsion had lasted thirty seconds, but Dr. Barton risked the drug reaction in order give Raoul relief. His breathing had become shallow again, but not to an overly worrisome extent. I looked up at the sound of the door opening, expecting to see Dr. Barton, only to see the glint of a familiar white mask.

"Erik," I said, instinctively holding tighter to Raoul as I met his gaze. "What are you doing?"

"You haven't slept," he answered, blatantly ignoring my question.

"I've dozed a bit," I said. "I can't…"

"The boy will make it," he said, his tone containing a bit less bitterness than it once had, his eyes devoid of the unhinged fury that had frightened me so. The voice reminded me of the man who had spoken softly to me in the night when I'd first come to the Opera Populaire. "He apparently has a strong constitution. And something to live for."

I nodded, still unable to find the words to express what I wanted to say.

"Erik…"

"I've come to say goodbye," he interrupted, stepping only inches closer.

"You aren't going to wait for Chevalier to be caught?" I asked, taken aback. "He wouldn't suspect you to be here. He might find you."

"You know very well that I can take care of myself, Christine," he said, a reprimand in his voice. "He would never find me, and even on the slight chance he did, he would be dead within seconds."

"But Raoul wanted the chance to thank you," I said, knowing it was pointless to argue with him even as the words passed my lips. "_I_ wanted to thank you."

Erik's eyes met mine again with an unreadable expression, then moved over Raoul's inert form.

"I'll take your telling me as his thank you, and you're welcome," he said, a trace of warmth entering the inherent sadness in his eyes. "In any case, if the police find me here, even the word of your Comte would not be enough to free me. And I trust that, even though Chevalier has not been apprehended, that de Chagny, whatever his state, and his family, will keep you safe."

"Why did you do all of this?" I asked, unable to help myself. "You received my letter and just decided…"

"Closure," he said simply. "And Antoinette is a master manipulator."

He handed me an envelope with my name written across the front, the penmanship just as careful as the notes he composed upon sheet music.

"When…" he stopped for a moment, taking in a deep breath. "When _Raoul_ has recovered, read this together. Not before. "

I nodded, and before I knew quite what I was doing I reached out and squeezed his arm. He balked at the contact but didn't jerk away completely from my touch. His fingers brushed the top of my hand for mere seconds. Here was the teacher he'd once been, an echo of the person life had never given him the chance to become.

"Goodbye, angel," he said, turning to leave.

"Goodbye, Erik."

And with a soft swish of his cape, he was gone.

A/N: Hope you enjoyed this! This isn't quite the end, there's still another chapter or two, and I appreciate you sticking with me through the long wait for updates! And yes, you will get to see what was written in Erik's letter. Hope the RC scenes and the goodbye scene with Erik were satisfactory!


	16. Two Endings and a New Beginning

Her Savior

Chapter 16: Two Endings and a New Beginning

Raoul's POV

I grasped the hand-rail tightly, still feeling a bit unsteady on my feet. It was only my second trip downstairs in a week, as Dr. Barton had ordered bed-rest for at least three, considering the trauma my body had been through recently.

"Are you alright?" Christine asked from behind me. "Are you sure…"

"I'm fine, darling," I said, turning slightly to look at her. "Just a little weak on my feet."

"If you're sure," she said, following close behind as my slippers finally hit the hardwood.

"I can't be in that bed a moment longer," I said, taking her hand as we walked through the entrance hall and toward the front parlor where everyone was gathered. "And Dr. Barton isn't coming back until tomorrow, so I'd better get out when I have the chance."

"You've been very ill Raoul," she chided, but smiled nonetheless. "You need your rest."

"I promise that if you think I need to return to bed, I'll go right back up," I said, and she nodded, seeming satisfied.

I entered the parlor, smiling at the sight of my family and friends before me. Adelaide was sitting with her daughter Marie on her lap, next to her husband Alexander; Cossette was laughing with her husband Jean, keeping a careful eye of the small knot of children playing in the corner; Aunt Claire sat chatting with Meg and Madame Giry, who had arrived a few days previously, and Uncle George was talking with Lucien in a whisper.

"Something going on?" I asked, sitting on the chaise lounge with Christine, eyeing my friend and uncle with raised eyebrows.

"An officer came by just before you came down," Lucien began. "To tell us that someone in town spotted Chevalier. So he can only be a few miles away."

"There's an officer posted outside," Uncle George added, sounding grave. "But we must be on alert. I'll be damned if I let that fool get near any of us."

I felt the knots in my stomach that had yet to leave me twist, sending a burning sensation throughout. The mere thought of him getting anywhere near my family made my blood boil with unchecked fury. I felt Christine inch closer to me out of instinct, and watched as a pronounced frown overtook her face.

"He won't have the chance to get near any of us," I said firmly. "I won't…"

The sound of a gunshot cut off my sentence.

The reaction was instantaneous.

"Was that a gun?" Meg asked, her voice coming out as a half-screech.

The color drained from Adelaide's face as she held Marie tighter and grasped Jean's hand, while Cossette and Alexander had both jumped up to usher the children into another room. Madame Giry looked unruffled at first glance, but her eyes were widened, while Aunt Claire shook slightly, her eyes falling on me. Uncle George and Lucien rose from their chairs, and I attempted to follow suit, but found that Christine had my right arm pinned with both her hands.

"Raoul, _no_," she protested, eyes blazing with something I couldn't quite define.

"Christine, I have to…"

"You're not _well_," she said. "You almost _died_."

"She's right Raoul," Uncle George said seriously, and from the worried gleam in his eyes I could tell that right now he saw me as the little boy who had once followed him around begging for fencing lessons, rather than the full-grown nephew he now trusted without pause. "Lucien and I can handle this."

Whatever he wanted to say next was cut off by another gunshot and the shouts of what sounded like a very deranged man.

"Raoul de Chagny!" Chevalier practically screamed. I felt a shiver run down my spine, remembering what he'd done to me, remembering what he'd threatened to do to my family. "Raoul de Chagny!"

I turned to face Uncle George once more.

"Phillipe always said I was the best shot in the family," I said, my eyes meeting his directly. "And I would bet money Chevalier isn't going to go down quietly. Even if we send our fastest stable boy to the police, they won't get here in time."

Uncle George stared right back at me with a hard expression, but I could tell that he was listening.

"Raoul is right," Lucien sighed in admittance. "You and I are excellent shots, but Raoul is the quickest without losing sight of his aim."

"Lucien," Christine chided. "Don't…"

"Christine," I whispered, gently pulling my arm out of her hold and taking her hands instead. "I have to end this." As I spoke, Chevalier's shouts grew louder.

"_You_ don't have to do anything," she said. "Raoul, I've feared for your life too many times in the past few months…"

The sound of a bullet hitting glass rang in my ears.

"Down!" Uncle George shouted. "Now!"

I pushed Christine down to the floor, my heart racing faster as I glanced rapidly around to make sure everyone was alright. No one seemed to be harmed, only startled, and I looked up to see that the bullet had lodged in the glass.

"He only has so many bullets," Uncle George said. "But we must not take any chances. Lucien, take everyone quietly and quickly upstairs where Cossette and Alexander took the children." His eyes met mine. "Raoul, you stay here."

Christine pulled me toward her once more, but there was a different expression in her eyes now; it was one of painful understanding. I realized in that moment how much she had grown in just a few short months, how much we both had. We had been children together, we had been adolescents in love, but now we were husband and wife, and here we were once more, at a precipice. My mind flashed back to the lair and the choice she'd made, the choice that had saved my life; I vowed to do the same now.

"Why is it always you?" she asked, resting a hand on my cheek.

"After this, it won't be," I said. "After this, we'll have a nice, quiet life together, we'll have this baby, and then we'll have as many more as you want, and we will be happy. I _promise_ you."

"You had best be right," she said, smiling through the tears that had gathered in her eyes. "I _refuse_ to lose you…"

"Christine, we must get you upstairs," Uncle George said, lightly taking her elbow. "I'll make sure Raoul is alright. I swear to you at the expense of my own life."

She nodded, planting an almost desperate kiss on my lips as Chevalier's angry shouts came flooding through the room once more. With that she was gone, Lucien tailing behind her, and in his eyes I saw an assurance that he would keep Christine and the rest of my family safe. A hand rested on his pistol, ready to shoot if necessary. Uncle George and I were left alone, and I watched as he reached up to the highest shelf on the mantle, far out of reach of the children, and reached into a box that rested there, pulling a pair of pistols from within.

"I don't like this," he said, and I felt as if his eyes were penetrating straight through my skin. "You should be resting instead of doing this, despite the fact that you _are_ the best shot. For once, you should let someone else handle things."

"I…"

"Let me finish," Uncle George commanded, even as what sounded like a bullet hit the wood of the front door. "You have been through enough these past months, and after this, I forbid you from doing anything stressful." He paused, his expression softening as the ghost of a smile played at this lips, reminded me very much of my father. "I'm also very proud of you. Your parents would be proud of you. Phillipe would be proud of you. Let us end this…I'll be right next to you." He handed me the pistol, and after I took it, I embraced him briefly.

We approached the front door, and I breathed in deeply before pulling it carefully open. Chevalier stood ten feet from me, and I balked at how truly maddened he looked; his hair was filthy, his clothes were torn, and smudges of dirt were on his cheeks. He'd clearly been hiding in the countryside, obviously unable to return to Paris as his face was plastered everywhere. Gone was the primly dressed man I'd known, his clothes always in stride with the latest trend, his hair always perfectly cut…gone was the smug grin he usually wore upon his countenance. I remembered him laughing with my father when I was very young, before their friendship had grown cold. His eyes glinted with malice, but I also noticed that his gun hand was shaking.

"You finally decided to come out, coward?" he asked.

"You will not speak to my nephew that way," Uncle George shot back before I could respond. "I won't have it."

"Always trying to fill Philibert's shoes, aren't you George?" he taunted. "You can't protect the boy from me. He's ruined me, and I will have my revenge."

Uncle George met my eye for the briefest of seconds, and I realized his plan in an instant. We both knew with the utmost certainty that Chevalier would not be taken alive, and there was no doubt that given the chance, he would kill the both of us, and a deranged man with a gun was far more dangerous than an armed man who was clear-headed; he had nothing to lose, because he'd already lost everything. Uncle George kept talking, and I slowly raised my pistol, trying to prevent Chevalier from observing.

"You ruined yourself," Uncle George said, remaining calm, "All because my elder brother refused to betroth Raoul to your daughter. You were always interested in raising your status above everything else."

I raised my gun higher.

"Everyone just _loves_ the de Chagnys," Chevalier said harshly, sarcasm twisting around his words. His eyes landed on me, flitting to my gun. "Oh no you don't, _Comte_…"

He raised his own gun, but my reflexes were quicker. I fired, the seconds passing like hours as the bullet whisked through the air, hitting him directly in the chest. The gun slid from his hands, and he fell, unmoving. I breathed out and then in again, realizing that I'd forgotten to breathe.

It was over.

* * *

"Are you sure you're alright?" Christine asked again a few hours later, when we were once again alone in our suite of rooms, the sun setting outside our window, purple and pink streaking the country sky. "I'm sorry I keep asking, I just…"

"I'm alright," I said, taking a sip of the tea that had been brought up, feeling a melancholy slip into my veins at the memory of Chevalier falling to the ground, lifeless. I'd hated the man for obvious reasons, but taking a life was not something in which I took any pleasure. After the afternoon's incident, I'd been understandably forced back upstairs and ordered to rest. "I didn't want to kill him…but he left me no choice. I had to make that choice before, when I was in the navy, and this time it wasn't just my life in danger…it was everyone's in this house."

"I know," she said, scooting closer to me. "I just can't believe it's over. Finally."

"I can't either," I said, looping my arm through hers. "The police might be by tomorrow for some paperwork, but that will be the end of it."

She nodded, and she looked at me as if she could hardly believe I was still sitting before her.

"I'm not leaving you," I said, brushing a stray curl out of her eyes. "I'm still here."

"I think we've used up our share of dangerous situations in any case," she said, but I noticed a hesitant look in her blue eyes.

"What is it?" I questioned.

She looked at me again, taking one of her hands and laced her fingers with my own, as if she feared I would simply vanish.

"Before Erik left," she began quietly, "He gave me this letter, and bid me to read it only when you were well. I know you're not fully healed, but now that Chevalier is dealt with, I thought it might be time."

"Yes," I agreed, finding I wasn't wholly surprised that the man I'd once called Opera Ghost had left this token.

My opinion of the man was still difficult to define. On one hand, that night in the lair would always haunt the both of us; the sound of Christine's tear-filled screams and the feeling of the rope sucking the life from my lungs would always be in my nightmares, and hers. On another, he had been an _irreplaceable _help in this instance, had brought me back to Christine when he had every change to enact his vengeance upon me. I hardly understood him, although it was doubtful that anyone, even Christine, ever fully had. He composed the music of the angels, had brought Christine's voice out of its shell, and yet sometimes he had the propensity to instill great terror. My memory flashed to the look on his face as he had released me from the noose, remembered his pained shouts for us to go, to leave him, and to make sure we weren't seen. In that moment I had seen the man emerge from beneath the white mask, the good in him unable to cause Christine grief after she had shown such compassion, such selflessness, in his presence. In exchange for her actions he had released us, and then for Christine's sake helped to save my life where he had once sought to take it, and for that I would be eternally grateful. We would certainly never be friends, but the hatred I once held for him had vanished, and I believed we had each walked away with a sliver of respect for one another.

"Open it, love," I said. "Let's see what it says."

She did as I asked, releasing my hand to open the envelope and unfold the letter before taking it in hers once again. To my surprise, the letter was quite short.

_Dear Christine,_

_As you are reading this letter, it is likely that you will not see me again. I have left France for good, and will be traveling to a yet unknown location._ _I trust that you are safe and that the Chevalier fool who sought to harm you has been taken care of. Despite my dislike of him, I know that your Vicomte would eagerly lay down his life for you if necessary._

_That being said, I am sorry to fall among the ranks of those who have hurt you. _

_Continue singing, angel, and remember to sing from your diaphragm, because that is something you forget about when you enter fully into a song._

_De Chagny- Take care of her. You have proven that you will, but if something should change, I shall know._

_~ Erik_

At the bottom of the letter, instead of postscript, there were the lyrics to a song we were both intimately familiar with:

_Think of me/Think of me fondly/When we've said goodbye/Remember me, every so often/Please promise me you'll try/On that day, that not so distant day/When you are far away and free/If you ever find a moment/Spare a thought for me…there will never be day when I don't think of you._

It was quiet between us for a moment, and I let Christine speak first.

"This letter," she said softly. "It reminds me of that man who spoke into the darkness during my first weeks at the opera, when I cried over Father every night, I missed him so." She met my eyes, and took my other hand. "When I missed you so." A few tears spilled from her eyes, and I wiped them away with the pad of my thumb.

"I never got the chance to tell you," I said. "But thank you for insisting that I go with him…I don't know what would have happened otherwise, and your gut told you to trust him even if I couldn't. You are a brave woman, Christine, and I think that even though it broke Erik to give you up, you might have just given him another chance to live, because you let him know that it was possible for someone to care about him, even though he'd hurt you."

She put her face against my chest and I pulled her closer.

"Before you arrived that night," she whispered. "I told him that the true distortion was in his soul, not his face. And then when I told him I would remain with him to keep you alive, after I kissed him, it was as if I saw the teacher I once knew, perhaps even parts of him that I never knew, emerge. I didn't expect that sort of reaction, and I don't know if I'll ever truly comprehend what happened that night. I just…I do hope he finds a way to grasp onto some shred of peace."

"Someday," I said, taking her face in my hands so she would look at me. "I think he will. As you have told me before, if you let it, music can heal even the most shattered of souls."

She smiled slightly at this. "I do hope so," she said. "I want him to find some kind of happiness. Whatever his crimes, I do hope the world, or God, or someone, will grant it to him. After what has happened in his life, it is deserved."

At this, she took both her hands and ran them through my hair, putting them to rest at the back of my head.

"You have saved me Raoul de Chagny," she said, staring into my eyes, a seriousness entering into her tone. "And I'm not just talking about today."

"You give me too much credit," I protested.

"Don't argue with me," she said firmly, yet another question rested in her eyes. "It's true."

"Is something else bothering you?" I asked.

"You said that we would have the chance to be young again," she said, a happy twinkle returning to her eyes as she echoed my words from weeks previously. "Is that still true?"

"Yes," I said, resting my forehead against hers. "We will be young again."

* * *

Six and a half years later…

I was pounced upon nearly the moment I entered the threshold of our Paris townhouse. I had scarcely laid my hat on the entrance hall table before an incredibly precocious six-year-old with a mane of curly blonde hair had leapt into my arms.

"Papa!" Isabelle exclaimed. "You're home!"

"Well yes I am, my dove," I said, grinning as she wrapped her little arms around my neck and pulled back to look at me. "What's got you so excited might I ask?"

"Maman says we are going out to dinner tonight!" she said.

"Indeed we are," I told her, walking toward the back parlor, where I knew Christine likely was. "We are going to meet everyone in just a little while, Aunt Meg and Uncle Lucien included."

"Will Madeleine be there?" she asked, referencing Adelaide's daughter, who was just a year younger than herself.

"Well of course," I said, smiling at Jacques in greeting as I passed him in the hallway.

"Where have you been all this time anyway, Papa?" she asked, tilting her head slightly. "It seemed like you were gone forever."

"I was meeting with the managers of the new opera they've just finished building," I answered, stepping into the parlor, where Christine was drinking tea, one-year-old Emmanuelle perched on her lap, while three-year old Phillipe played with blocks at her feet.

"The opera that Maman is going to for?" she asked, ever curious. "And where Aunt Meg is going to dance?"

"That's the one," Christine answered for me. "That's why we went shopping for new ballet shoes for Aunt Meg today."

"Papa!" Phillipe shouted, running at my legs full force and wrapping his arms around them.

"Hello there my boy," I said affectionately, leaning down to kiss the top of his curly brown head as I gently put Isabelle back on the floor. "Did you have a fun afternoon?"

He nodded, reaching out his arms in a gesture of wanting to be picked up. I obliged, kissing little Emmanuelle's cheek when Christine offered it to me, then kissing her swiftly on the lips.

"You know, I asked the managers what opera they intend to put on for the opening," I said, meeting my beloved wife's eyes. "It's…"

"Something new," she finished for me. "Written by an anonymous composer in England. Madame told me today."

We held each other's gaze for a moment, the past swirling around in both our minds as we silently acknowledged who said composer was.

"Is the music pretty?" Isabelle asked.

"From what Madame told me about it my darling, it sounds lovely," she said, smiling down at our increasingly curious first-born.

A few moments later, Marie, who informed us with a good-natured reprimand that if we didn't hurry up we would be late, collected Isabelle and Phillipe to help get them dressed for our dinner engagement, leaving Christine and I alone with Emmanuelle, who was already dozing off in her mother's arms. I took the seat next to Christine which Isabelle had just vacated, and she handed Emmanuelle to me, leaning in for one more kiss as she did so.

"The restaurant isn't going to know what do with the lot of us," she said with a chuckle. "We might eat them out of house and home."

"They're used to us by now," I replied, laughing myself. "You know, the new opera is the talk of the town. _You_ are the talk of the town. Are you ready to be Christine Daae, prima donna extraordinaire, once more?" I teased. Christine had sung in public a number of times in the past years, but the managers of this new opera had approached her when the building was almost complete, asking if she might play the lead in the first few operas in order to help them get off the ground in such a highly competitive city, and she had gladly agreed.

"I do believe you mean the _Comtess Christine de Chagny_, prima donna extraordinaire," she said, poking me gently in the chest. "I do believe I'm up for the challenge. After all, I've got you and the children to make sure I keep up with practicing my music even after rehearsals."

"Isabelle will see to it," I said, grinning once more. "Of that I have no doubt."

Christine smiled broadly, resting her head on my shoulder. I breathed in her ever familiar scent of lavender, then looked down at my sleeping daughter, listening to the laughter of Phillipe and Isabelle, which could be heard from upstairs through the open parlor door. And in that moment, I knew that I had never been happier; despite all the challenges life had thrown at us, Christine and I had succeeded in sharing the one love, one lifetime we'd dreamt about that night on the rooftop of the Opera Populaire as Paris glittered around us, and that was all I'd ever needed.

A/N: Hello readers! Well, that is the end of this story! I do hope you like how it ended. Quite fluffy, I know, but I tend to get that way with the RC pairing, because I just can't help myself. I hope you approved of the way I closed things up, especially the letter from Erik, because I wasn't sure how that turned out. Anyhow, thank you to anyone and everyone who has read, reviewed, and stuck with this story. I'm quite enamored with the music from the Phantom 25th anniversary performance (the three principals were astounding, and I'm thoroughly in love with Hadley Fraser, who played Raoul) so there will likely be a few one shots in the future, especially after the DVD is released in the US in February. Also, just as a side note for anyone who isn't familiar with the novel, Philibert is the name of Raoul's father. Farewell until later!


End file.
